


Family Matters

by Katreal



Category: Rurouni Kenshin, 幽☆遊☆白書 | YuYu Hakusho: Ghost Files
Genre: Crossover, Family, Gen, Ghosts, Harry Potter References, Not Time Travel, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Repressed Memories, random inuyasha references, soul searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:39:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katreal/pseuds/Katreal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurama had never realized how much his death had stolen from him. Luckily, the important things are never lost. It only took an old photograph, and some soul searching. Not all reunions can be happy ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Photograph

When he offered to help his aunt, he hadn't expected it to be so…so…

_Achoo!_

Kurama rubbed his nose, he hated dust. His nose might not be anywhere near as sensitive as it used to be, but it was a clearly remembered annoyance. One wrong sneeze—or even a sniffle—could potentially draw unwanted attention. That ingrained knowledge one of the reason he was such a neat person. This storage room was full of it. He was too polite to back out now.

"An—" He cut himself off, correcting himself before she could, "Aunty! Where do you want this one?" He gestured to the box by his foot. Being the taller of the two, he'd offered to take the ones that would go on the shelves while she searched for whatever she was looking for.

Blue-lavender eyes flicked his way, "On the shelf in the corner if you'd please Suuichi-kun. You are such a dear, helping me like this."

"It's nothing Aunty…" He hefted the box as she directed. He had no idea what she was looking for.

A few more boxes and he found out.

"Here we are. I'd meant to give your mother some of these. God knows I have many." She was pulling an old fashioned photo-album out of a cardboard box, the kind that were around before the modern age of digital cameras. Photos slipped between plastic sleeves, all bound up in a three ringed cover. "Now that I've found it I'm going to make some snacks—do you want anything?"

Kurama shook his head. She reverently set the album aside, rising to her feet and smoothing out her kimono, "I'll be right back, go ahead and look if you'd like."

When she left Kurama drew near the blue bound book, curiosity fighting together with boredom to drive him near. He settled on the floor next to the open box, noting other colored books packed neatly within its confines.

He folded open the thick covering, opening to a random page. There staring up at him was his mother, holding a—he blinked, _Was I really that small?_

Since he was a centuries old Youko possessing a human, he'd been fully mature upon this body being born, but his soul had been wounded, exhausted with the task of escaping death. He didn't remember much before Suuichi's fifth year.

He certainly didn't remember being smaller than his fox form. Much smaller.

Mother looked radiant. Beaming with a healthy smile—the happiest he'd seen her in a long time. This wasn't the tired woman who didn't know what to do with a distant son, nor the one suffering from a slow-killing disease. The closest he'd seen was now, and even now she didn't have the youthful radiance he could see in the picture. She was looking off the edge of the camera, not at the taker, but at someone else. _…Father?_

He closed the book, taking a look at the kanji on the binding, _Shiori and Suuichi._

There were many more pictures, obviously taken in the dojo. Had Mother and Father lived here in the beginning? Before moving into the home he knew? It obviously happened before he became aware, since he couldn't recall any of these pictures.

He looked back into the box of albums, eyes falling on a green one lying near the top. _Katsuya._ The characters of his father's name stood out against the white label-square. Before he realized it he had it in his hands, placing his own book back down on the floor.

He'd never really thought about his human father much. He was gone before that pivotal five year mark, and after, well, he'd thought to leave for the Makai as soon as he could, leaving everything behind him. Mother changed that.

His fingers itched, opening the green cover. All the pictures around the house were of him and Mother, not that there were many in the first place. He was curious.

As soon as he saw the first page, he froze.

Red. Searching fingers tangled with his own scarlet, hair he'd always thought was bleed-over from his demon side, like his eye color. Mother's family was purely Japanese, so it didn't come from there. And he'd always assumed it was the same with his Father, black on black. Not red on violet, shading even more into the purple than Aneko's odd indigo eyes.

The coloring tugged at him, pulling at the strings of old memory. He toyed with the idea that the picture dredged up infant memories, from the splinter of his personality that had been Suuichi Minamino while Youko Kurama's soul still slept.

But no, the impressions felt older, the wild flavor of youki and fresh pine-scent. The fall of drifting snow…

"Suuichi?"

His aunt's voice let the tendrils drift away, sinking back into fragmented memory. He still had difficulty recalling memories older than a couple decades before Youko's death. Dying had really torn him up—eighteen years later and the damage had not yet completely healed. The human mind also had difficulty processing the sheer volume of information; instead relegating it to…storage was an applicable term. He'd had Hiei look into it, after they'd become friends. Worried, just in case something crucial had been lost in the transfer. Hiei had just snorted and told him not to worry about it.

Kurama sighed and let it go; accepting the small plate his aunt offered him. She then leaned over to see what he was looking at, "My brother made a cute baby didn't he?"

Her eyes were unfocused, looking back into distant memory, long before screaming steel took a just-married young man out of her life.

"I've never seen him before." Kurama's soft-spoken admission snapped her out of the past, incredulous, "Surely Shiori had pictures?"

"I haven't seen them." Not that he'd really looked. By the time he'd cared, he still had Mother. Alive.

And that was all that really mattered.

It still didn't matter much, beyond the fact that his mother suddenly dragged him here, to meet his father's sister. And that memory…

_Cold…It shouldn't be cold._

He shivered, throwing off the phantom chill before he could slip further into fragmented memory. It floated just out of reach, sneaking forward and prodding again and again. Now that he'd dredged it up it didn't want to settle back down. Now was not the time to slip into the distant past, not with his Aunt muttering under her breath as she took the album from him and began searching through it. He'd make time after dinner, meditation should help.

"It's got to be in here somewhere—not know what his father looked like!—talk to Shiori."

Kurama felt the slightest bit alarmed at how his admission seemed to affect her. He kept forgetting the importance humans placed on the male half of the parenting. It was unsettling, foxes tended to be more attached to the female. The father usually disappeared long before kits left the den.

"Here." She dropped the open page into his lap. There was only one large photo here.

There was his mother, looking nearly the same as she had in the last picture he'd seen. Shrouded in a white wedding kimono, smiling shyly at the camera. One hand on the arm of a man beside her, also in traditional raiment. It was obviously his father, that fiery scarlet out of place against black and white haori. He looked at the face, not at all like his own—twisted as it was to resemble the face of his soul.

And it called up nothing. Whatever it was about the baby photo, it wasn't about his father.

x-x-x

Snow where there should be none. A twist of youki raised about himself warded off the dropping temperature, although that didn't do much to help to foliage that had led him here. The broad-leafed ferns were used to a perpetual summer, these lands never seen the touch of ice. Why would it? In the Makai it was always warm, always humid. Only near the great glaciers did snow ever fall.

It was such a shock for these plants, a clawed finger lightly touched a snow-dusted leaf, dislodging the intruder and sending it to the ground in a flurry. The plant-life whimpered, all curling near his probing youki in an effort to warm up. He pulled it back and snorted. They were Makai natives, they would survive a little chilling. As long as the situation didn't persist for centuries, and even then it would likely adapt.

A stray breeze led to him taking in the scents—nothing to indicate the presence of an intruding demon. The snow didn't bear with it the acid-copper taste of youki, ruling out the possibility of an ice demon encroaching on his territory. It also didn't feel like the heavy-freezing death of the north. It felt lighter, purer, just barely affected by the Makai's ever present energy imprint.

Following the flakes on a wind he stepped—slippered foot landing in a good four inches of snow. The thin barrier between foot and wet was no match. Shivered, fur standing on end until he summoned his energy, a twist here, a shove there—and four protected paws touched down in cool, but not unpleasant snow. Insulated by a layer of shiny silver fur, Kurama let out an approving rumble, this form was far more suitable.

The sudden increase in volume wasn't the only difference, what was once a tropical jungle let out into snow covered pines. He reached out and touched the plants as he passed, tasting their essence even as he memorized his trail. He'd need to make sure he knew how to get home after all.

…after a bit of nosing of course. The portal should still be there when he returned. At least that was his best guess at whatever led him here. There hadn't been the spider-webs on skin feel of Reikai's barrier, but somehow he'd stumbled out of the demon realm. There was no other explanation.

He couldn't help staring in wonder about him at the plant-life dozing under winter's chill touch. They were far weaker than the flora he was used to touching, but something about the essence seemed lighter, purer—lacking the hardness that comes from surviving due to sheer necessity. Untouched by Makai's ancient malice and ever present youki that led to the rise of dangerous plants such as the Death Tree. He hadn't felt this in centuries. Not since demons were cast out of the mortal world.

Amongst the scent of snow and pine, whiskers trembled in the winter air. There was an odor he wasn't used to—at least not outside the larger cities where some unscrupulous demons dealt in certain, high commodity foods.

Human. The scent of human lingered on the wind, near and immediate unlike the fire and woodsmoke curled at the edges of his perception.

Nose rose and fell, didn't even realize it as paws followed. Humans could not get into the Makai. Not alive. And the stench of death had yet to permeate the air. The barrier allowed none save for dead flesh to cross its threshold; otherwise someone would have wised up long ago and started a human ranch. It would have killed the smuggling market.

There it was, two largish lumps in the snow, just off to the side of what he _thought_ was a road under all the wind-blown snow. He padded right up to the nearest, nudging the body with his nose. Still warm but cooling fast. He could hear the heartbeat slowing, hypothermia setting in. Even if he were feeling particularly altruistic there wasn't much he could do. The woman's life was fading fast, unraveling as the ghost began to lose its hold on the mortal form.

Kurama turned away from the doomed human, turning to inspect the smaller lump beside her. He used his tails to clear the accumulated snow in a quick flick, revealing a much smaller form than he'd expected. He almost growled at the sight, what kind of caretaker took a kit out in this weather? The human-kit was in much the same predicament as the mother. This kit should be holed up in a den, waiting out the winter with mother and litter-mates. Didn't humans know any better?

Paws shifted into clawed hands as the world _rippled_. His sense of the fading life beside him fluttered in response, the dying child shivering against something he could only sense. Smart kit. Kurama knew the feeling of a Reikai portal when he sensed one. Death, the greatest thief of them all.

"Can you sense it, kit?" He cooed to the child, watching without eyes the soul slowly unraveling, "Death flies tonight."

Then the child surprised him. Indigo, almost _purple_ eyes opened. Just a sliver. Not even enough to properly see, but it was enough for Kurama to guess why mother and child were out.

"What better way to be rid of a demon child, than give it to the unforgiving winter." Such was the way centuries ago, when youkai still lived among and around humans, before Reikai forced the three worlds separate. Now that he was looking he could see red fuzz where hair should be, cut unevenly—sheared off to hide yet another sign of an impure bloodline.

Anything strange was demonic.

The little one's ki was reaching toward him, desperately searching for the licking tendrils of his youki. Anything. His youki probed back, curious. Kurama frowned, there was something else there. He wasn't sure how to explain it, a plain dish, with a faint twinge of _something_. Something familiar.

Death was coming closer. He could hear her calling.

_Such a will to live…_

Kurama was a demon. He admired strength. He admired determination.

What a chance—he wouldn't let it go!

_The grandest theft of all._

Youki twinned about the frayed edges of the child's ki. Young enough-he could coax the little one's energies the way he wanted to, not as set in stone as the mother's. Half remembered stories, a hypothesis he'd toyed with, in case something were to go horribly wrong during a heist.

_How many can say they've stolen from Death?_

" _Suuichi."_

He ignored it, trying to hold on to the memory, felt it fray in his grasp as his human name was repeated. Mother.

The snowcapped woods of a century old Ningenkai faded, leaving the city-night fallen over the dojo-courtyard. He could feel the wooden veranda through his jeans, legs beginning to cramp up from meditating for hours in search of an elusive memory. That child had been haunting him all day, and now he had some answers. Answers that prompted more questions. What happened to the ki-d? He knew for a fact he hadn't had one around the Den, at least not for very long. Kurama sighed as the fragments of Youko's memories sank away. At least he knew what to look for now.

His name called his attention again. Mother stepped out onto the veranda, pulling the sliding shoji screen shut behind her. No need to let bugs in, "I thought you went to bed?"

That's what he'd said, earlier. Probably where she was headed now, giving the simple, light sleeping yukata she was dressed in. Kurama untangled his legs, feeling the pins and needles of restored circulation, "I did. I had trouble sleeping," he let out another breath, "Many things to think about."

Mother didn't respond. He frowned, she wouldn't have bothered coming out of the house to just say good-night. She could have done that from the corridor. He cast back into memory, what could this be about? Dinner had been fine. Afterward they'd made plans to visit a shrine just off dojo grounds tomorrow, and then he'd begged off, leaving Mother with Aneko…

"I am so sorry…" he almost missed the quiet words. He did _not_ however miss the taste of salt in the air.

Oh. That.

"I hadn't meant to keep Katsuya from you. It…hurt…after…"

"It is fine mother." He could fill in the blanks. There was a hint of old pain in her voice. "Honestly, I was merely surprised to find so many pictures."

"We lived here…until he was transferred. We left…most of the pictures behind."

And then he died. Soon after. Kurama remembered nothing of the affair, but it was the only possible reason given the lack of new pictures. He truly did not care about the progenitor of his human shell. It was Mother who had cared for him. Mother who didn't give up on a distant son who held everything in contempt.

He didn't know how to tell her this, because she wouldn't understand. Most children wanted to know. Most would be raging mad they didn't know. But male foxes left the den, leaving the females to care for the litter. Neither human nor fox thought much about father-figures. But he didn't want to hurt her further so he just let her talk. Let her talk about the man she met in University, who dropped out and joined the police academy because an officer came to speak in one of his criminology classes.

As she talked, Kurama finally realized what this was all about. This wasn't a trip to visit relatives. It wasn't even to let him know about his father. No, this was for her.

Her voice cracked, wavering as she neared the end of the story. He knew what was coming.

"Mom…" he said quietly, "It is okay. You do not need to say anything."

All they had left to talk about was death. Of a death not even in the line of duty, but in a screech of fire and twisted metal brought about by someone else's carelessness.

"I sent his ashes here. To Aneko." Mother stared out, unseeing, past him, into some far corner of the shadowed courtyard. "The shrine—tomorrow—"

He could sense the question she never quite got to ask, and he knew immediately what his answer was. He'd always been her support pillar. "Of course." There was no need to ask.

Because he finally knew. This wasn't for him at all.

She'd come to say good bye.


	2. The Mission

"It's friggen' cold—!" Yuusuke tried to take out his frustration on the surroundings—there was a distinct lack of carrot-topped moron for him to beat up—but only received a slew of snow wriggling even further into his shoes, "Sonnova—Hiei! Did you find those damned wolves yet!?"

Cat-slitted purple eye flicked in his direction before looking away in dismissal. Red eyes remained closed throughout this.

Aaaargh. The little pipsqueak was smirking at him, tapping a foot against the damned _snowless_ ground surrounding him for a good three inches. You'd think a fire demon would be worse off in the wet and cold, but _no_ , he'd done this weird twist and push with his youki, melting everything that came near him. There were no little flecks of white pepper in _his_ hair or cloak.

… _I'm not jealous dammit._

So. Not. Fair.

"Patience detective." The jagan glowed, slitted pupil dilating as it returned to the search. It shouldn't be taking this long to find something living in this Makai-spawned snow-pit. They'd been here for _hours._ The only reason Yuusuke hadn't frozen to death was the coat Keiko had shoved at him before leaving, and the old man's gift. Demons were far more hardy than humans.

Which explained why Kuwabara wasn't here to entertain him. He would have been an icicle after the first twenty minutes. Not to mention the shrimp would have probably been more than happy to hide the body. It would never be found under all this damned snow.

"Just something to fight. Anything." Yuusuke muttered, shifting into stretching exercises in an attempt to keep himself moving. "Every other time we come here we can't seem to stop tripping over fights. There's gotta be something alive that I can pound on. Somewhere."

Hiei snorted.

"What's so funny?"

"Twenty dens, within range." Hiei pointed out with a smirk, "At least seven or eight demons per den. Three wolves per demon. By all means, crash one. It would spare me the effort of disposing of your body myself."

That sounded nice.

Damn Koenma's "unless provoked" order. The toddler was worried they'd screw up relations with the wolf-tribes. Bah. If he wanted pansy making nice he should have sent Kurama on this mission.

Not that Kurama was a pansy. The fox was just the only one who bothered with it. Yuusuke was of the mind that fists were better than words, Kuwabara had cronic foot-in-mouth syndrome that usually dissolved into a brawl anyway, and Hiei's diplomatic solution was to just kill them off. They can't disagree if they are dead.

Hiei moved, tying the sealing bandana back over the now closed Jagan. Yuusuke unsuccessfully suppressed an excited yell. They were finally moving! "About time! Where's the den?"

The fire demon rolled his eyes and started walking, youki flaring along with a single word. "Come."

Yuusuke stopped. Stared at the endless field of white Hiei was setting out into and face met palm.

Aw. Hell.

At least he could walk in Hiei's melted wake. Now he just had to deal with damp socks instead of snow in sneakers.

-  
 _A snowman. I look like a friggen' snowman._ The walk hadn't done much for Yuusuke's attitude. He kept knocking off the piling white but it kept. Coming. Back.

Kuwabara would love it. The moron adored the fluffy powdered flakes from hell. He was probably in Koenma's office, sitting on the desk watching the Yuusuke the Snowman show on that big screen TV of Koenma's. He wouldn't put it past the toddler to let him, munching popcorn around that ridiculous pacifier—

Hiei stopped, and the shrimp was damned lucky Yuusuke noticed or he would have knocked him over. It wasn't until Hiei's youki flared to battle levels that Yuusuke really started paying attention. It wasn't his job. Point him at a demon, he'd smash it. Watching out for them? Kurama's job.

Or Hiei's in this case.

Grey shapes blurred in the wind driven snow, tingle of youki letting him know that the snow screen wasn't natural; they circled the two, wolves surrounding their prey.

"If you wanna fight stop hiding in the snow like cowards." Yuusuke scowled, cracking his knuckles even as he worked to pick out how many prospective punching bags he had. It was hard to track them with the youki screen up, collectively they barely blipped on his senses. Normally that was a good thing, they were weak, but that didn't mean anything when thirty odd teeth were trying to tear him apart, "Come on, I've been wanting a fight all day!"

"Unwise words, for someone who waltzed into the open jaws." A voice responded, mildly amused. The source of the words melted out of the snow in front of Hiei. That same blurring was still there, but at least he could tell the guy was human shaped, not other shaped. He was tall, lean, and definitely a 'he' with that voice, and smelled faintly of…tobacco?

"As much as I would enjoy to see the detective eaten, we have business." Yuusuke's mouth almost dropped open in shock. What the hell? Hiei actually listening to Koenma's orders? "We were sent by the Reikai brat in search of the pack leader."

"And why would he be interested in what _Koenma_ has to say?" Good question. Pacifier-sama had little to no authority on this side of the barrier. Most youkai didn't want to get mixed up with the lord of the underworld, but that didn't meant they wanted to help him or anything.

Hiei just grunted and reached into his coat, pulling out the sealed scroll the toddler had foisted on him before sending them out to this god-forsaken wasteland. With a flick of his wrist Hiei sent the message flying at the silhouette. Yuusuke sputtered in surprise, they were supposed to deliver that to the pack leader! Not whatever flunky happened to waylay them. Not that Yuusuke cared, mind, but he was already dreading the ear-reaming he'd get once everything was over. The toddler wouldn't bother trying with Hiei, he'd just tear into Yuusuke.

"Well met pup." The wolf rumbled, tucking the scroll away and beckoning with a single hand. "Hurry it up. It's too wet to do anything out here."

Yuusuke perked up.

Excited about the prospect of getting out of this pit-spawned wet, cold, white stuff Yuusuke barely paid any attention other than the usual threat-dar. He could feel the faint shadows of the wolves following them, Hiei's banked fire just ahead, and the there, but not of the leader of the wolves, and that was enough for him at the moment. None were setting off his danger-alarms.

He didn't noticed Hiei pause, smirk, and deliberately step to the side. Normally that smirk was reserved for when Kuwabara was about to do something extremely stupid, and would have warned Yuusuke. Of course, he didn't notice.

The first this he _did_ notice was his foot sinking a good foot into cold snow, reaching the end of the path left by his personal snow-melter. He shook the clouds out of his head, looked around, and started "Oi! What's the deal?"

The expression of dry amusement on the fire-demon's face had his stomach twisting in knots, and he spent several crucial seconds trying to figure out what had caused it—and then something gave way beneath him and he was waaay too preoccupied to care. "Aw shiii—"

The world descended into free-fall and gravity and an avalanche of snow, all dragging him down in a whirl-wind of stunned chaos. Bewildering seconds ticked by like hours, lost in blinding whiteness he was really starting to _loath,_ before hard, snow and ice covered floor knocked the wind out of him and everything stopped.

He was going to _kill_ that brat, demon or no demon. Trusted ally or not—that was just too far!

Yuusuke struggled to kick himself into gear, pinned under a remarkably heavy pile of snow—it didn't help that the impact had essentially stunned him. The thump of something even _heavier_ landing on the snow-pile that answered to Yuusuke Urameshi didn't make him very happy.

"Hiei! You are dead! Dead you hear me!?" A familiar snort came from the lump of weight on his back, "I mean it Hiei! When you take point you are supposed to friggen warn a guy about shit like this!"

On second thought, Kurama might be ticked if Yuusuke followed through with his plans to strangle the fire-demon, not to mention Yukina would give him her "How could you?" look and then Kuwabara would _try_ and pound him for upsetting her…

Aw hell, it wasn't worth it. Kurama could be downright _scary_ when he wanted to, and Yukina's disapproval would set a lightning bolt straight.

"Not my fault you can't see, Detective."

Black shoes appeared in his vision as the fire-demon slid off the pile that was Yuusuke, absently flicking stray already melting white off his black coat. Yuusuke growled in response, so maybe strangling was out, but that didn't mean he was letting this go that easily. After this was over he was going to catch the little fire-brat and have a nice heart to heart conversation. With his fists. Hiei owed him a spar anyway.

Grumbling Yuusuke demolished the pile of snow, trying in vain to get rid of the cold-wet stuff off of him. It was pretty much a lost cause at this point, clothes and hair soaked to the bone, and he probably looked like a bedraggled cat—but hey, at least the stuff was melting—

Wait…

It _was_ melting. Somehow. The pile that had accompanied him on the trip down was significantly smaller. Not only that. But it just felt warmer than it had outside. He glanced at the resident fire-demon, "You doin' that?"

Hiei grunted and crossed his arms.

"Did you really think we _like_ that cold?" Huh, he hadn't heard that guy come down. Definitely hadn't by way of his back like Hiei. Yuusuke turned.

_Samurai movie reject, much?_

Sure he'd seen some demons wear some weird stuff, but he'd never seen one that looked like it escaped from one of those historical dramas Keiko liked to watch sometimes. Black top-knot—it looked to be longer than Kurama's hair for goodness sakes—old-fashioned aqua haori with mountain stripes on the edges. Now where was the—there, not even bothering to hide it. The bastard wanted them to know he was armed.

…and that damned smell of tobacco still lingered around the guy. It made Yuusuke edgy. He wanted a smoke.

He settled for shoving his hands into his pockets, "Nice place." He drawled, making a point to look around, "Kinda empty. And wet."

The melted snow was now an inch-thick layer of water on the floor, but no more seemed to be coming through the hole in the ceiling. Actually, he couldn't even see the hole anymore, the previous view of a grey sky covered again by smooth white.

 _Barriar—solid till activated maybe._ Kurama would know.

Hiei, the spirit detective noticed, was content to let Yuusuke handle the pleasantries. Probably waiting till he said the wrong thing and got himself skewered. Or eaten.

"It's enough for guests. You think I'd lead an outsider to the pack-den?" Wolf-yellow eyes narrowed, they were about the only thing that didn't look human about this guy, other than the fact that he dressed like he belonged in a museum, "Now, tell me why Reikai sent their special half-breed detective to the Mibu tribe."

"Read the damned scroll," He didn't have the patience for this, and Hiei had passed the rolled paper earlier, "hand over the damned sword, and then we'll be out of your hair."

"I know what it says," Fangs flashed as the scroll was withdrawn—and then shredded by claws, "What I want to know is _why._ Koenma has no authority here. My father repaid his debts many time over—that pacifier-sucking brat has _nothing_ on this tribe."

"Ya think I know? I'm just the messenger. He tells me where to go, who to beat up, and I do it with a smile on my face." Yuusuke cracked his knuckles, "I was told not to fight with ya, but I'm really itching for a good brawl…"

"Where is the pack-leader?" Hiei interrupted for the first time, drawing wolf-yellow into dragon-red. The wolf just growled, "Father stepped down over a decade ago, not that you would know pup. I am leader now."

Clawed hands curled around his sword, "And as the leader, perhaps I should send a message to Reikai. The Mibu owe them _nothing._ "

-the hell? When did it degenerate into threats? Ah well, he _did_ need something to take his frustration out on and he considered this provocation…

  1. Before Yuusuke could even think of moving the sound of steel being drawn resounded in his ears. It wasn't the wolf—his sword had only withdrawn an inch before hands froze, same steel brushing lightly against the pale of an exposed throat.



"Yield Kouga." The demand was quiet, with an unmistakable 'Or else' lingering unsaid. The wolf demon snarled, but complied—wise move considering the sword was drawing blood. It just wasn't enough to be lethal. Yet. Hiei knew exactly how close he could get.

_Damn. Beat me to it._

"This is treason brat." The words were low, growled, grave, "You should know the rest of the pack are near."

"It doesn't matter." It was really an amusing picture. The wolf had at least a foot on Hiei, yet the little guy had him pinned. Yuusuke was about to settle back and enjoy the show, when his danger alarm started blaring in his head, "The-hell!?" He was getting damned annoyed with being surprised.

The raging spring of youki seemed to melt out of nowhere, reaching out and flowing all around the cave like a fire licking at potential victims. But this fire was cold, ice, snow and the swift kill of a hunter. The smell of tobacco doubled, tripled, and Yuusuke breathed in—smoke?

The other two demons seemed to notice as well. Surprisingly, both seemed to relax at the new presence—since when did Hiei relax for anyone but Yukina?

"Father!" The wolf's eyes were focused on something behind him, and Yuusuke had the bad feeling he had his back to a veeery lethal predator. He hated the feeling. Where did this guy come from? He had his spirit-gun charging before he realized it, spinning so as to have his back to the wall, and BOTH wolves in his sight. Gold eyes-not quite the same shade as wolf-yellow over there, were focused on the hostage situation, a lit cigarette—did they smuggle them into the makai too?—held between two fingers

"Let him go pup." The growl was low, the demand confusing Yuusuke for a moment. Hiei was the one who had the wolf, so why was he talking to—

And then Hiei tilted his head in acknowledgement, the next second the fire demon was back at his place by the wall, a quick clean of the blade before sliding it home. It was if he'd never left in the first place. Kouga—at least that's what he guessed wolf-yellow's name was—was left rubbing an already healing line on his throat, "Father! He attacked the—"

"Quiet." Gold took a drag of his cig, exhaling slowly, "You've done enough." The elder moved forward, mountain striped haori an exact match for the other wolf—probably a clan thing. He also had the samurai-escapee look going on, except Gold's hair was cropped short, a few long strands falling into his face, "How many times have I told you to stay out of personal business, brat?"

"They were looking for the pack-leader" Kouga growled, "That makes it _my_ business _._ "

"An administrative error." A quick glare had the younger's mouth snapping shut, "Leave. This is a personal matter."

"They attacked the _—"_

"The pup acted accordingly," Another slow exhale, "Your ignorance could incite Reikai's retribution if you continue to stick your nose where it doesn't belong." And if that wasn't enough of a talking down, he sneered, "I gave you the title of leader, so _act like it_ and not a snot-nosed brat with all the brains of a rooster. This is _not_ a pack matter. The pack has no obligations." When Kouga showed no sign of leaving, those gold eyes narrowed, sharp as the paired swords still sheathed as his side, " _Get out before I_ throw _you out by the scruff of your neck."_

At last the younger wolf submitted, growling to show his displeasure, but he conceded. Kouga took a running leap, dissolving the barrier and jumping through the hole in the roof. Of course that snow had to go _somewhere_ …

"Aaargh! I friggen hate this stuff!"

Yuusuke could hear Hiei chuckling at his expense. He'd completely forgotten about the snow that piled on the barrier. Now he had it in his hair and down his shirt again—it was friggen cold! It'd been bad before, but now it was like twice as bad because he'd finally dried off and warmed up.

Grumbling AGAIN, Yuusuke made damn sure he was as far away from that hole before he did anything else. He squeezed what water he could out of his shirt before giving up, pulling the clingy material off and wadding it up into a ball. He felt warmer already without the constant wetness.

Hiei and gold-eyes were staring at each other. Just…staring.

"As much as I hate to break this moment—" And they both moved. Even Yuusuke had trouble following, it and he _could_ move at that speed if he tried. Hiei was over there, sword out, slashing through the air in a blur and whistle of steel. Gold –eyes was over there, one sword held in weird position—what was he doing? Hoping Hiei would impale himself on the stationary blade? The other was still in its sheath. What was with that anyway? Regardless, the guy attacked his teammate, Yuusuke felt his Reiki curling around his fists.

Hiei barely faltered in his attack, but Yuusuke heard the growling ' _MINE!'_ tear through his mind. It left him with a searing headache, dispersing the energy he'd gathered and forcing a hand to his head. Red flicked toward him, and he knew that if the bandana weren't blocking it, the Jagan would be drill right through him.

_Oi, oi, I get it already._

Damn brat, hogging all the fun. Just finish showing off so they could get this mission over with. He wanted to get back to Ningenkai so he could work off the excess aggression building up. He hadn't pounded on Kuwabara in a while…

In a blink, the fight was over.

Gold-eyes ended up with Hiei pinned to the cave wall, claws digging into stone and sword mimicking the position Hiei'd had Kouga in earlier, resting delicately against exposed throat.

"So much for showing off, Hiei!" Yuusuke cheerfully commented, arms behind his back. He _might_ have a charging spirit gun hidden behind there, just in case, but that didn't mean he couldn't needle the brat for that headache.

Red smoldered as Gold chuckled, pulling away, "Acceptable, brat. You've improved."

"Can we get on with this mission already?"

"Hn." Hiei pointedly ignored Yuusuke, grabbing his sword from where it had been knocked. It slid back with a click—despite the impromptu battle, Hiei seemed unusually at ease. "I hadn't realized you stepped down."

"I may have made Kouga the leader, but he is far from the Alpha." Fangs appeared in that smirk, as Gold lit a new cigarette, the other having gotten lost in the blur of motion and naked steel. He swiveled to address Yuusuke, who'd been trying to get their attention and they were ignoring him dammit, "Pipe down, Halfling, the adults are talking."

"You two are being waaay too creepy. Acting like you know each other." And it was freaking him out, just a little mind. Kurama was the only one the shrimp ever relaxed around, and not even that was this level. Usually the little fire-demon was wound as tight as a spring, ready to slash at a moments notice.

A snort, "There is a reason I was sent."

And it wasn't because the Jagan was the perfect search-engine?

"He isn't very bright? Is he?"

"He is right _here_." Yuusuke grumbled, "I honestly don't care what the hell is up with you two—just give us the damn sword so we can get Koenma to leave me alone for a month."

"This one?" Gold eyes pulled his second sword out, sheath and all. Huh, he didn't know they were looking for a wakazashi and not a full fledge katana. It looked authentic enough, and Koenma said Hiei would recognize the energy pattern…He glanced at the fire-demon, who noticed and tilted his head in an affirmative. This was it.

There were plenty of those sealing papers slapped on it, much like the squiggly nonsensical designs written on Hiei's bandaged arm. Duh, cursed sword. Made sense. That was also probably why it didn't even register as a blip on his threat-dar, those things were pretty good at erasing energy signatures, "Did he find its owner?"

"Hell if I know." Yuusuke shrugged, "'m just the delivery boy."

"Yes. He did." Hiei's interruption came almost simultaneously with Yuusuke's reply, which caused the fire demon to get a look from both of the other demons. Gold's was assessing, Yuusuke's surprised. He didn't remember that information from the briefing. It'd just been "Get the sword. Don't kill the wolf clans."

Not in those few words obviously, there were a lot of drawn out instructions about how important the mission was and how he'd better not screw it up. He'd been unusually close-lipped about the background info, come to think of it. Just that the sword was cursed and it was in the keeping of a wolf clan. All the other information was in that scroll.

The one Kouga shredded. Bastard.


	3. The Past

_Here was the source of fire and woodsmoke, a quaint little village, obviously a poor farming community. He wondered absently if this was the village the mother had come from, it was the only settlement he could pick out nearby, so it was likely._

_If that were the case, leaving the kit here wasn't the best idea but what did he care? He was content with the knowledge that death_ could _be cheated. He had no desire to take on a human pet, and what happened to it now wasn't his concern._

_The kit had fallen asleep, fists curled into the white of Kurama's shirt. The kit was only a few years old at most, definitely not old enough to live on his own. He picked the most well off family of the village, the most able to afford another child, meant to leave the kit on the front engawa, washing his hands of the matter.-_

- _Something bit down on his ear, hard, arms recoiling, returning the child to his chest._

_-Too young.- His mother's voice growled from memory. The time he'd tried to leave the den. –Not ready. Back inside.-_

_But he was ready. He was old enough. Strong enough. He wanted to leave. Wanted to explore. Was ready to fight her over it—_

_-she was too fast. Paws pinned his young body to the rocky floor, her breath hot as she held his head in her jaws. Gently, but the point was made. –Back inside, kit.-_

_Why was he remembering this now? He moved to set the child down—_

_-Back inside.—_

_-Inside—_

_-Inside—_

_-Not_ ready—

" _He's not my damned kit!" He yelled at the rumble of instincts pushing to the forefront. That wasn't the smartest move, sounds and voices coming from inside and the surrounding huts. The last thing he needed was a youkai hunt._

_-Kit. Protect—he couldn't shake it off._

_But he's_ human _. Humans shouldn't be evoking this kind of reaction—and then he looked._

_Aw hell._

" _I am not_ female." _He hissed at the kit, but that didn't change anything. His youki curled protectively around the warm body in his arms, swirling along a half-formed parent-bond anchored deeply into the kit's streaked aura. Streaked with_ his _own youki of all things._

_Those bonds only formed with the female, created in the act of breathing life into the kit…_

_Which he effectively did. Damn it._

_Kuronue was_ never _going to let him live this down._

Kurama opened his eyes, they felt heavy. His cheeks felt wet, the faint prickle of drying tears rolling silently down them.

The room was empty, blankets pulled off the futon to surround him in a circle, a nest. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, not without the newly dredged up memories trying to slide in through his consciousness. Of all the things he'd been prepared for…

 _I had a_ kit. _A bonded kit of all things._

Youko had never recognized the feel of a parent-child bond, having known it since birth. Kurama now _knew_ why he'd recognized it as Shuuichi. He'd known it from this kit. He'd seen it as Shiori's bond waned, his human shell maturing and ready to leave the den. Then a new one was formed, in the other direction, when the mirror took half his life-force to heal hers.

_How could I forget…?_

He had always assumed all the important memories made it through the death-fragmentation. Kuronue'd been there, his band, his den, various pieces of heists, thefts and other notable events. He couldn't place them in the timeline of centuries, they didn't even add up to what he knew was his age. But they'd been enough to reassure him that he was indeed Youko Kurama, and not a human soul that absorbed the memories and youki of a dying demon. He had been worried at one point, a toddler in body and trying to piece together the fragments of his past.

_If I'm missing a kit, then what else could there be?_

It bothered him. Scared him. What else was lurking until something reminded him? Until some small thing tugged at the broken edges of recall?

And his kit. What happened to his kit?

He wasn't sure when the snow-covered forest existed, but he knew it was at least a century back just through guesswork. His kit was human, despite the youki woven into his soul, he would be long gone by now. The only way he'd know was to delve back into those memories.

Mother had said this was a time for family.

Determined, Kurama took a deep breath, and another, and another, sinking deeper and deeper into the wild, tattered edges of his recall. The sky was lightening, creeping toward dawn, but Kurama didn't care. One night of meditation couldn't hurt him.

His kit. _His Kit._

_x-x-x_

-" _Are you freaking nuts Youko?! It's a human. How the hell did you even get him past the barrier?"_

" _Take a look at him Kuronue. You tell me."_

Silence. The bat demon choked, "Bonded?! Have you been hiding something from me, Youko-chan?"

He may have been expecting this, but that didn't mean he didn't threaten to sick his death trees on the suddenly amused bat demon. Kuronue was more in favor of the kit after that.

It helped that the first time a demon tried to spirit the child away Youko had nearly bitten his head off. Kitsune kits came few and far between despite the breed's loose attitude toward sex. Kits were to be protected. Kits were to be treasured. It didn't matter that his kit was human, his base instincts regarded the kit as his.

Youko had seen human children before. Small, weak little creatures he'd thought. Neither a threat nor useful for anything at all really. So he'd been astounded at how quickly the little one adapted to life in the Den. And how quickly he learned.

Those violet eyes followed him everywhere, and before he knew it the Kit was toddling after him when previously he'd barely known how to walk. He'd end up having to catch the kit by the rough spun fabric of his shirt collar to save him from a rather painful fall onto the stone floor, but that never deterred him, and eventually Youko had to squirrel away any of his spoils that could have been dangerous if touched by untrained hands. Kuronue had the time of his life as he helped childproof the den, all the while Youko muttered to himself about having to hide his loot in his own safehouse.

But it had to be done. His kit had the curiosity of a fox, and Youko found himself trying to squash a niggling feeling of pride.

x-x-x

"I hear you've gone and picked up yourself a whelp." Jiro sneered. The dingo demon had come to the Den to hash out the details for an operation—or at least he'd claimed that was the reason. Youko had not been blind to the casual scope out his home had been given by the other demon throughout the so called-business.

It didn't take long for him to get to the point at least. Jiro wasn't one for subtly. Youko ignored the statement, instead eyeing the map Jiro had brought along. The client wanted a cursed item that was located in that room, with those guards…

"Really, Kuronue couldn't stop nattering on about it. The great Youko Kurama, a Denmother." A barking laugh, "Is that why you haven't been at any of the meetings? It has been two years. Rumor has it you've gone soft."

Truth was, he didn't want to leave the Kit alone. He was still too small and curious. So he'd given Kuronue command for a while. Now he knew who to chew out.

"Got nothin' to say, Kurama? Maybe you've just gone domestic. Gotten used to playing Mother—"

In a moment Youko's claws were at the other demon's throat, pressing down with enough pressure to puncture the warm skin beneath the thick fur covering Jiro's the precious artery. That shut him up. Cold gold eyes glared into the dingo's suddenly bulging ones. He could feel the muscles beneath his claws quiver as Jiro fought to speak. "My business is my own." Youko said at last, putting as much of a warning into it as he could without breaking cool. "I will do what is necessary, when it is necessary. When I am needed, I will be there. No sooner." He pressed down harder, feeling warm blood trickling down his claws, "Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Jiro growled, not wanting to risk even a slight nod. Not with those claws so close.

"Excellent." Youko let him go, attempting to flick the drying blood off his claws. Jiro massaged his throat. "Now, the patrols are going to run like this…"

x-x-x

In the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of red creeping at the edge of his vision. Small feet left soft imprints in the moss he'd coaxed to grow over the hard cold stone. Youko flicked at ear in the direction of the kit, his eyes briefly leaving the scroll he'd been engrossed in.

Seeing that he'd been acknowledged, the kit had scampered over to where he was curled by the fireplace set into the cave wall. Youko shifted to allow the small red-headed boy settle next to him in the giant mound of cushions, absently running a clawed hand lightly through strands of fire. His kit relaxed quickly under the attention, letting out a small sigh, "Kura?"

"What is it?" Youko had never been overly fond of the nickname, but it sure beat the "Papa" Kuronue had tried to teach the kit, back when he couldn't say his full name. The boy was old enough now, having been in Youko's care for seven years, but Youko found himself not minding enough to correct it.

"What's my name?"

Those wide violet eyes looked up at him, questioning, waiting for an answer he couldn't give.

"You should be telling me," He said at last, tracing the golden threads that laced his kit's aura. Not quite a half-breed, but the kit was definitely not completely human anymore. Red strands fell to the side as the small head tilted under his claws, questioning. Youko sighed and flicked an ear, removing his claws from his kit's head, "We decide our own names. Until then you are just my kit."

x-x-x

"Aha! Gotcha!" The young voice drifted down the hall as Youko let the camouflaging vine fall back in to place. Responding to his youki, the vines curled in tightly against the edges of the cave mouth, locking it down as the green of the vines shifted to a dull grey to perfectly match the surrounding stone. He gave them a glance of satisfaction, before turning down the hall. Soon the bare walls began to be slowly covered by trailing vines, but unlike the previous ones, these ones only had the occasional leaves, which glowed brightly in the dark to light the path. But it wasn't long before the hall opened up into the central room, where he was met by a rather…odd sight.

He was greeted by a pile of bat wings and red hair gathered into a heap on the floor. His kit was bouncing excitedly on Kuronue's chest, tugging on the bat demon's black hair animatedly. The predicament didn't seem to be unwelcome however, because Kuronue had a huge grin on his face, and was laughing in that carefree way of his, "Great job, brat. You caught me. Just in time for your papa to see."

Of course Kuronue would have noticed him. The bat demon had probably sensed him the moment he entered. His kit, however, only just now realized the amused fox's presence. He scrambled off Kuronue as quickly as he could and drew himself to his full height—which barely came up to the bat demon's shoulder while sitting on the floor, "Welcome home."

"Don't mind me." Youko drawled, it was rather amusing to see Kuronue so rumpled. His precious hat was halfway across the room.

"The brat is such a handful, and getting pretty good at stalking too. I didn't know anyone but you could walk silently on that crap." The bat demon pulled himself into a sitting position and slapped his hand against the moss-covered stone in emphasis. It made a quiet, but still audible sigh as the leaves were pressed together. Youko quirked an eyebrow in the direction of his kit, whose face was going an interesting shade of red at the compliment.

"It's just practice."

Still. He had to be doing well to fool Kuronue. Youko had confidence in the bat demon's senses. Needed to for him to be his partner.

"You should teach him to hunt." Kuronue tossed the idea out there, scuffing up the little one's hair, causing small hands to bat at his larger ones. Despite the annoyance, the youngling was beaming.

"Outside?" And that would be why. Youko knew the kit was getting restless. He remembered that feeling, although his didn't set in until he was fifty.

Youko just made an indecisive noise, one that both the others took as a "Maybe." In the back of his mind those instincts coiled.

_Too young. Stay safe in the den._

And that was that.

x-x-x

'Shin-ta?' Youko struggled to decipher the child's scribble on the page. He eyed his kit from over the top of the sheet, not even bothering to ask how the ink had managed to splatter all over his face. Black stained hands still clutched on to the oversized brush used to paint the sloppy characters. He fought back a scoff, human characters at that. "Where did you learn these?"

"Kuro-niisan has been teaching me." Of course. He and Kuronue had been swapping more often recently, as Youko needed to get back to leading his band. They had gotten lazy after the last decade or so, one of his higher level members had even decided to go freelancer. He knew Kuronue had started to teach his kit to read to pass the time, but these were definitely the human variation, not those used by demon-kind.

Youko went back to studying the compound. The kit had pushed it in to his hands the moment he'd stepped in to the main hall of his Den. He didn't know what his kit wanted from him.

"Is it…good?

Approval then?

"Keep practicing." He said at last. He wasn't one for giving comforting, unearned praise, but something felt wrong about saying that his plants could produce a more legible script even without him controlling them.

"Not thaaaaaat." The kit huffed, putting his hands behind his back. Irritated, Youko noticed the motion had left a large ink-stain on the kimono. He'd have to get another one. "The name. Is it a good name?"

"Big heart?" Youko translated slowly, his deliberate drawing out of the syllables caused the kit to shift nervously. They were rather simple characters. The name left an uncomfortable taste in his mount. Too soft. He didn't like it. It hung in the air.

The kit must have seen it in his expression, because those hopeful eyes suddenly dropped to the floor. Youko let out a rumbling sound, something akin to a heavy sigh. "Don't rush it."

In an impulsive move, he was crouching on the floor in front of the shrinking red and blue figure, one clawed finger tapping him lightly between wide violet eyes—was that a hint of gold? He hadn't been this close in years. "You will find it."

He hadn't received his full name until he was ready to leave childhood behind and strike out on his own. That was just how it was for a fox. For a demon, his kit was barely more than a yearling. Even for a human, a decade was nowhere near the cusp of adulthood.

His attempts at being comforting failed miserably. He pinched his nose and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He didn't even have to look to know how pathetic his kit looked. It…bothered him. He shouldn't look like that. He needed to do something.

Then he remembered a half-jokingly offered suggestion, tossed out off-handedly once when Kurama caught Kuronue and his kit in a heap in the den. _'You should teach him.'_

 _Teach him to hunt_.

He remembered how his kit had reacted to that suggestion. It should work. His instincts snarled that he was still too young, but supervised it should be okay. And it would distract the kit from names for some time.

His kit stiffened and looked up, Youko suppressed a grimace at the blurred quality obscuring those bright eyes. Youko curled his claws out of the way, using the side of his hand to wipe some of the offending moisture away, further smudging the ink stains, "Go. Clean up. I will take you outside."

Kurama looked up through the open shoji door, golden eyes meeting with the pale light of the waning moon. Silver strands fell where red should be, a curtain of moonlight made solid, dancing at the edge of his vision. He didn't think about what his aunt would say when she discovered the punctures in the wooden planks, made by claws that were normally frail human fingernails. He knew this was dangerous, he'd transformed without knowing, in this place where his mother or aunt could walk in at any moment. But he couldn't bring himself to care. His youki raged around him, unseen, searching for the frayed end of a bond that should have been there.

In truth, he knew that it hadn't been there for a century or more. But he hurt. Deep, deep inside the storm of anger and grief, he hurt in a way he never had before. He now knew what had been responsible for the events of that last century. For the increasingly reckless and dangerous stunts and heists that eventually led to that fateful day.

Youko Kurama unraveled himself from the nest he'd made hours ago, not seeing the quiet, fenced in yard of the Tokyo Dojo. He only saw the darkened forest of the makai, over a hundred years ago, searching frantically on a moonless night, after a long night or work. He remembered returning to a hauntingly empty den, the camouflage vines hanging limp, and that mane of red hair, and bright violet eyes nowhere to be found.

A twist of will and a large silver shape bounded out into the night, leaving the blankets scattered where they had dropped. He lost himself in the run. The night. In the primal sensations of his demon instincts and the sights and sounds of the quieter side of Tokyo.

It was better this way. Youko knew how to handle his instincts.

What he couldn't handle, was pure, human love. And loss.


	4. The Meeting

The family grave was just a small stone, amongst many others just like it. The only thing that stood out was the name engraved upon it. Katsuya Minamino. There were other characters, but Kurama's eyes slid over them. He knew he'd find his mother's there, emblazoned in the red signifying the not-yet-deceased, but other than as her eventual resting place, this place meant nothing to him.

And he felt guilty about that. His mother was a quiet wreck at his side as she knelt before the stone, preparing a stick of incense to place once Aneko had completed the somber task of washing the gravestone. Kurama just stood and watched. Head bowed and hand on his mother's trembling shoulder to give some pretense of comfort. He fooled them easily, and Aneko even gave him a quick hug before she hastily knelt to join his mother. Shiori placed her stick of now burning incense on the offering plate, and Aneko added a framed picture to the small shelf on the bottom of the stone pillar. He recognized it dimly from one of the photo albums he'd helped her find yesterday. It was taken before the dojo gates, of a group of people he recognized, but barely knew. His eyes zeroed in on the small child in his younger mother's arms. He knew it was himself, but he wasn't seeing the emerald of his own eyes. He was seeing the gold flecked purple of another's, long ago.

Oh he could fool them, because he wasn't pretending. He _was_ grieving.

Only, it wasn't for the man whose grave he stood before.

He could barely remember last night. He didn't really want to.

He couldn't take the heavy silence after a time and gave his mother's shoulder another squeeze. He begged off quietly, leaving his mother and aunt in their silent prayers. He wandered off into the winding mass of crowded graves, some distant family, others those of the neighboring families. From what he could tell it was mostly a local plot, he recognized the names on some of these older graves as those hanging in the dojo's hall. Masters probably.

He stopped in front of one. He didn't know why he did. It was set a little apart from the others, and some small part of his mind noted that such a large plot would have been an expensive luxury, even in such a small, localized area. It was old. There were no offerings. The once polished stone was worn by weathering, the etched characters faded and unfamiliar. Sunlight left an array of shadows playing across the marker, dancing as a small wind rustled the leaves of a cherry blossom tree that was planted beside it. It wasn't time for flowers, but the leaves were bright and green and alive. His youki reached out for it instinctively, this living thing in a sea of somber stone monuments. It stirred at his touch, familiarity and welcome washing through him.

Yes. He'd been here last night.

He pushed aside the memory. Pushed aside the feel of rough bark through fur, of leaves rustling quietly in the night, of the comforting presence of a guardian tree. He pulled back from the tree's welcome energies, suddenly aware that he was no longer alone. He stiffened, but otherwise did not startle. He hadn't heard the newcomer. Nor had he smelled him. He still did not smell him, there was nothing but tree and stone and the more distant scents of the two women further away.

There was a man kneeling at a nearby grave, head bowed. He left no offering but his prayers. Fiery red hair made Kurama ache and he had the irrational idea that he was coming to hate the color. But no, the grief was merely too raw.

Kurama moved to back away, to give the mourner the privacy propriety demanded, and to return to his own thoughts, but his eyes narrowed as he took notice of the wind. Even the dulled senses of his mostly human form should be able to scent the human man just a few paces away.

Still. Kurama continued his movement, backing down the line of graves, into the dappling shadows left by the cherry blossom tree. He kept an eye on the stranger, noting the old fashioned clothing, and the full length sword fastened to his side. Some demons had a fondness for older styles, then again many older humans still kept it especially for formal occasions.

The stranger moved down the line of graves slowly, stopping in front of each one to pay his respects. They were all nearly as old as the grave under the cherry blossom tree. Far older than this man appeared to be.

At last he had come to the final marker in the line. He lightly touched one of the two names on the marker beneath the cherry blossom tree, and Kurama noticed that the presence of the man did nothing to disrupt the sun shadows from the tree leaves. He had no scent. He cast no shadows. Everything clicked in to place. Now that he was looking, he could feel the faintest sense of spirit energy. Not enough for a living person, but an imprint, a memory. A…

"Ghost." He murmured, understanding now. That caused the spirit to look up, indigo eyes peering up through a fringe of fiery red. A wry, sad smile crept on to the spirit's lips.

"Yes." It seemed almost to be a sigh, "This one's life ended long ago."

Spirits were none of his business. He and the other Detectives dealt with demons. With threats to the spirit world. To the human world. Even the Makai if it came to that. The few times they'd come across a ghost, Botan usually took care of it.

"Why do you remain?" Kurama asked quietly, genuinely curious. The spirit looked familiar, with that fiery hair and darkened eyes. Then it clicked into place. This was a local cemetery. His human family appeared to have red hair common within the line. He remembered Aneko saying the dojo had been a kendo dojo since before the Meiji Restoration, when the sword ban was initiated, so a swordsman in the family wouldn't be strange at all. He added a little belatedly, "Honored Ancestor."

The title amused the spirit even as he bowed his head in humility, "You honor this one unnecessarily." He glanced back along the line of graves leading away from the cherry blossom tree, the ones he'd previously given his respects, "This one cannot move on, so this one watches. Miss Kaouru, Little Yahiko, Sano, Kenji…This one watched them all move on, waiting. Waiting…"

The ghost sighed, "This one waited all his life, and even in death this one waits. This one always seems to be waiting. Father had to find this one. Master found this one. Miss Kaoru…"

Kurama shifted, it sounded frustrating. Kurama knew the virtue of patience, but by his nature Kurama had always been the type to go out there and find what he needed. Find and take. He was methodical and cautious about said taking, and very few would accuse him of being _impulsive_ , but he was always the one to take the initiative. "What are you waiting for?"

Those shadowed indigo eyes turned back to him. It was a very personal question, but Kurama's curiosity refused to let propriety persuade him to back down. This was a nice distraction, the presence of an otherworldly problem allowing him to neatly package up the raging grief that had been eating at him all day. An unknown spirit haunting so near his mother and aunt wasn't much of a threat, but it was enough.

"This one…threw away something long ago, and without it he isn't whole. One cannot pass on when one is torn in two." The spirit chuckled sadly, "This one was but a child at the time and did not understand until it was too late. This one still doesn't know if it was a mistake or not."

The spirit trailed off, noticing the newcomers just as Kurama did. He turned away from the grave, from the spirit, in time to see the two women picking their way slowly up the path. He remained there quietly, and the two joined him. Their eyes slid past the silent ghost, although Aneko's lingered on the marker before them. Kurama accepted his mother's hug, stroking her hair as she sought his comfort.

His aunt drew his attention as she spoke quietly, inadvertently echoing the spirit's earlier motion as she traced the weathered characters. Her touch, unlike the spirit's, dislodged some dirt and grime to flutter to the ground, "Honored Grandparents…" She murmured, although her tone indicated that the relation went back at least one more generation, if not more, judging by the dates carved into the stone. "It has been so long…I should come back here more often to care for the graves."

She looked up at Kurama, "This section was reserved for the family and friends of Kaoru Kamiya, daughter of the founder of our dojo. She and her husband were local heroes around here, back in the Meiji Era. Normally the community pitches in to take care of it but…" She trailed off, absently working out some more of the caked dirt.

Kurama glanced to where the spirit had been standing only to find the sun shadows empty.

x-x-x

Hiei knew what he was looking for, following the faint, almost imperceptible tether spreading out from behind him. He was far from his usual haunt in the human world, the district where the idiot duo lived, but his Jagan found the faint sense of Kurama's youki near enough. That was unusual; the fox didn't live too far from the idiot duo. Hiei didn't think too much of it however, he didn't police the fox's every action. The prospective of backup was enough, even if he doubted he'd need it.

He followed the tether into an older part of the city, easily bypassing the few humans out at this time of the evening. The cemetery was fenced, but that didn't mean anything. Hiei was over the spiked iron top with little effort. The thread led toward the back of the cemetery, ending uncertainly under a cherry blossom tree where it wavered and dispersed.

Hiei settled in the branches, taking a moment to check the weight and sway of his chosen perch. Soon enough he adjusted his balance to account for it, and could focus on other matters. He allowed his Jagan to open wider beneath his bandana, collecting even more of the dispersed energy. Yes. It matched. All he had to do now was wait.

His arrival had stirred the spirit, but it didn't manifest. Not yet.

Another dark figure made his way casually up the path. This demon was tall, dressed comfortably in a crisp black suit, with a daisho securely hanging at his side. The paired swords would have looked conspicuous, but the taint of youki clung to them, causing the casual eye to slide past.

Hiei felt a flicker of spirit energy on the edge of his perception. Previously dispersed, it gathered together like beads of dew on the edge of a leaf, teetering on the edge of falling. He closed his red eyes, looking only through the Jagan. A short, slim swordsman stood before the marker, glowing slightly, a pale aura that would be invisible in the light of day. The light did not touch anything, not even the smooth stone of the monument upon which he leaned.

The alpha wolf stopped in front of the grave and pulled out a cigarette, lighting the small white cylinder, the end glowing faintly red in the night. He took a long drag of it before addressing Hiei, expelling the smoke with his words. "Is he here?"

Hiei nodded once. The ghost was unseen to most eyes.

"Battousai." The wolf demon addressed the air, giving the surrounding area a sneering glance, "You always were sentimental."

That sounded almost derisive. Mocking. The spirit sighed, putting his back to the monument, "Saito…" The name was almost lost within the resigned exhale, "This one should have known."

Hiei snorted at that, Saito didn't hear it, although he shot Hiei a questioning look. The fire demon shrugged. It wasn't overly important.

The wolf turned back to the grave and the unseen swordsman before it. He could feel a faint impression before him, even if he couldn't see, and directed his words toward it, "My debt has been repaid. I found that which you foolishly threw away after Tobu Fushima." The wolf growled, flicking the spent ember from the edge of his cigarette. He tossed the entire thing to the cobbled path, grinding it into the ground with the sole of his shiny dress shoe. Yellow eyes glittered in the faint light from the distant street lamps, "Answer me this, _Battousai_. _Why did you kill yourself?"_

The swordsman was silent, indigo eyes narrowing as they watched the stiff posture of the demon.

"I did not kill myself."

The vehemence in that statement did not translate well in Hiei's monotone as the fire demon relayed the words for the wolf demon. With each word there was a wavering in the spirit's image, as if it were becoming fuzzy, indistinct. An alien, but almost familiar energy danced within the faint cloud of spirit energy.

And then everything sharpened, snapping the swordsman back into clarity. The soft magenta haori was now a dark midnight blue, blending with the nights shadows with uncanny proficiency. He was shorter now, younger, hair pulled up into a long, silky topknot. The stance was that of a coiled predator, instead of the quiet, humble confidence of the older swordsman. Hiei had previously classified the swordsman as one of those skilled, but bumbling do-gooders. Much like Kuwabara. This version however…

"You may as well have." Saito smirked as he too noticed the shift in the ghost's aura. His hand went instinctively to his swords, the katana specifically, but then shifted to the wakazashi. Instead of drawing the steel, the demon pulled the shorter blade out of its ties, the hilt and scabbard bound with sealing ofuda. The wakazashi clattered against the stone path, coming to rest at the spirit's feet. The spirit's head was bowed, looking down at the dark shape.

"The last I saw that sword drawn it was bathed in the blood of soldiers." The spirit's voice was quiet, "I swore to never again take a life. To turn my back on that wild power that called for battle. I threw it away. I threw it _away_."

The teenage anger was cold, tightly controlled, but it gave the young voice a harsh sound to it, "I threw away the reminder that the rumors were right." The slender hands shook and he found he was reaching tentatively for the fallen wakazashi, having shifted to a crouch. He pulled his hands back, folding them in the wide sleeves of the dark blue haori.

The wolf waited while Hiei relayed the jist of the spirit's words, tapping his foot impatiently and even going so far as to roll his eyes, "Self-pity doesn't suit you, Battousai. Regardless of your reasons, this idiocy of exorcizing your youki ended up killing you, threw the Spirit World into frenzy, and gave me at least a century's worth of headaches searching for the blasted thing." Fangs flashed in a quiet snarl, "Any satisfaction I found in being proven right that you weren't a human didn't last long."

The spirit wavered again, a glimpse of the older, more stable swordsman flashed in Hiei's vision.

All of a sudden, the wolf's youki flared. "Take it Battousai." Hiei didn't even need his Jagan to see the tightly controlled youki and killing intent raging around the alpha wolf. "Take back your heritage and end this ridiculous notion of penance. You _died._ At least do the rest of your friends a favor and _move on."_

This was the power that had long ago impressed a young fire demon. This was the control that Hiei had emulated to later bring the black flame dragon under his command, decades after having left the wolf tribes. Destroy. Evil. Instantly. The wolf's taste for human tainted morals had clashed with his own contempt at the time, but even now Hiei couldn't help respectful admiration. His own power might be stronger, but he still had yet to achieve the same killing edge.

The sealing wards itched on his left arm. Then again, he _was_ fire. It did not like to be contained.

The spirit reacted in a completely different manner. Reactions that Hiei knew were battle born sprang to life—the swordsman went immediately for the wakazashi on the ground, his crouched position making it difficult to draw the longer katana at his waist. A hiss of energy crackled, the sealing wards flaring in response to the touch. Hiei could see some golden youki trail after the spirit's hand even after it flinched back, turning the lunge into a roll that allowed the red head to spring to his feet, pale amber eyes glaring out from the shadows to match with the grinning wolf.

The pale cloud of spirit energy brightened in intensity, drawing in on itself to become more solid. Hiei noted it was drawing more and more of the golden, irritatingly familiar energy from the still sealed wakazashi on the ground. The ofuda were smoking slightly, but still intact. Obviously the presence of the original owner wasn't enough to break the seals completely.

Suddenly the aura winked out, the swordsman completely vanishing with only the briefest flash of startled indigo eyes. Hiei frowned, reaching out with both his Jagan and his normal senses. There. He narrowed his eyes, picking out the shadow that had joined them. He should have guessed Saito's display would have gathered the fox's attention. However, there was something wrong with this picture. In the dark it was difficult to see, but the scattered light from the streetlights glinted off rivers of silver, and there was definitely gold in those hard, green eyes.

x-x-x


	5. The Revelation

He'd been approaching from downwind to stay out of scenting range. Stalking. Youki struggled to bleed out, but Kurama reined it in, bottling it up and masking it within his human shell as he approached. He'd caught the mixture of ash and the smell of pine needles that surrounded Genki's temple—Hiei. Hiei had been on a mission with Yuusuke. He'd gotten called for it too, but had begged off since he'd been out of town. However, the other scent from the graveyard was not the detective. Instead of the mazoku's unique scent, Kurama caught the smell of wolf wrapped within a cloud of clinging tobacco. He was wary—very wary of a wolf demon in the human world. They kept to themselves in the tundra of the Makai, and hardly ever traveled alone.

An armed wolf-he could see the silhouette of a katana at his side. Of at least C-class. The feeling he'd got from that power flare wasn't overly impressive, but he knew better to judge based on that alone. His own power was neatly masked as "human" when he kept it tightly under control, an advantage most demons did not have. There were some benefits to this human form.

Even masked, Hiei should have noticed him but he didn't feel the brush of the Jagan at all. He couldn't tell exactly what was going on that so enthralled the ever vigilant fire demon. Even with his enhanced senses he couldn't see much. It was overcast, the nearest lights being the streetlights along the far side of the cemetery, but he recognized this place. He could feel the pulsing life of the cherry blossom tree. Hiei was in the tree, to be expected, but the wolf was standing before a familiar grave. Kurama frowned, reaching out, questing for the faint energy impression he'd conversed with this afternoon. He found it, and drew back abruptly. It was different now. Wilder.

More dangerous.

He could almost see the colors in his mind's eye, a cloud of pale, calm blue would have signified the spirit he'd meant earlier today. Earlier today had been the old, wise, but tired spirit of an instructor. Now…now that blue was dark as indigo, shading almost to purple with coiled agitation, anger, and remembered pain. Shot through with gold. That gold felt familiar. It originated from an outside source, coiling around the human aura, struggling to mend a tapestry once torn apart…

He lost his grip on his power and it surged forward, groping for something, something, silver bleeding into his hair. He felt Hiei's focus snap toward him, and even the wolf's aura flared in response. But what drew his attention the most was the moment the spirit noticed—he could see the spirit as clear as day. Younger. Sharper. A red, angry cross-shaped scar. Gold the color of his own eyes instead of the indigo he remembered.

 _I_ know _you._ The thought rang out clear as a bell. It wasn't his own.

He saw the moment the spirit retreated, wavering, for the briefest moment as the manifestation collapsed in on itself, taking the form of a lost, achingly familiar child. He felt the realization as if it had been shouted out loud and proceeded to resonate around the room.

 _I_ know _you._

 _Kit_.

Kurama took a step forward, the apparition was gone.

His nails were digging into his palm. No. Not nails. Claws. He closed his eyes and took a breath, drawing the youki back, confining it. The pain in his hands died as the small wound healed over, and he reversed the transformation. He was almost normal by the time the wolf turned to face him, eyeing him with wary, but calculating curiosity. Kurama returned the stare flatly, anyone who knew Hiei wouldn't have to search far for his description.

"A little late for paying your respects, eh brat?"

"One could say the same for you, sir." Kurama responded politely, formally. He brushed a hand through his hair, fingers finding one of his seeds and tugging the loose roots free. He held it loosely in his hand as it dropped to his side, he could feel the warmth of the rose within the hardened shell, but he didn't call it out. Not yet. The wolf's energies were still at battle ready levels. They still remained near a high C-class, although Kurama was ready to bet they were B at least when fully released.

The wolf demon didn't notice the motion, or didn't care. "Even with that silver, you have the hair, and your ki looks closer to that idiot's than his own son's did. At least you saved me the trouble of hunting you down."

Kurama narrowed his eyes, loosening his grip on his energy at the implied threat. He didn't know why this wolf was here. He didn't know what Hiei was doing here. All he did know was for the briefest moment he's seen his kit in the startled manifestation of the spirit, and this wolf had blatantly flared killer intent. Flared killer intent at his _kit._

_Kit—_

It wasn't just the image. It was the aura. The painstakingly familiar youki he'd sensed for the briefest moment before that frightened child disappeared. The instincts that have been screaming at him for the loss of his kit were just latching on to that image. That was all. He would have known. Should have known. But he didn't sense it. Didn't sense the youki. Where was the youki coming from? Not the wolf's; that was obvious enough. But that other. The other that was irritating the frayed end of the parent bond. The bond that had reached out for what was left of a ghost, surprised to find a tentative response.

He pushed it aside. Even if it wasn't official, this was a mission. He needed to find out what was going on, and the one source he trusted seemed well content to sit this one out.

"Hiei. What are you doing here? Where is Yuusuke?"

Hiei shrugged, nonchalant. "Mission. The Detective was too slow."

"He is here escorting me. The brat in the spirit world doesn't trust me chaperoned. The loud one fell behind long ago." The wolf chuckled, watching him with an intent gaze. The acrid scent of tobacco flared as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the ember setting his eyes aglow, "I am fulfilling both a debt and a grudge. Coincidentally, doing so clears up one of Koenma's administrative errors."

Kurama glanced up at Hiei again, a silent request for confirmation. The fire demon tilted his head in acknowledgement. Kurama shrugged in acceptance, but he didn't put away his seed. Instead he tapped in to the faint spark of life in his palm, coaxing it to grow just a bit. Enough to wrap fine roots around his fingers, holding it in place-a holster of sorts. Just in case. "Fine. However, this area is under my protection." For the moment. His family was nearby. His mother. His Aunt. His—

"I was protecting this city long before you showed up, brat. Don't put on airs with me." He deliberately knelt to pick up what looked to be a fallen blade, careful to avoid what appeared to be seals around the hilt and upper part of the scabbard. He held the shortened sword loosely, studying it intently.

Kurama's body was tense. He couldn't help it. His eyes zeroed in on the short blade being held in the wolf's hands. A steady, but distinctly heightened level of youki was washing off the demon; he was spoiling for a battle. Some of the energy he sensed was different though. It was from the sword.

"I was trying to goad an idiot swordsman into battle. Unfortunately, the idiot sealed this too well." The wolf scoffed, another plume of smoke spiraled toward the sky, "Why am I not surprised that one of his whelps became a spirit detective?" He shook his head, tossing the blade at the fox without a care, who caught it on instinct. Energy sparked as he touched it, but the seals held. Kurama didn't use a sword as a rule. He had used an enlarged, reinforced leaf of razor grass every now and then, but his preferred weapon was a whip. That was fact. He didn't want to drop this sword though. Something tugged at him. He eyed the seal, ignoring the rest of his senses to focus on the youki. It wasn't as easy as it used to be. He could always sense energy, but to _see_ it required him to block out the rest of the world for a few moments. He felt safe enough now, and trusted Hiei to warn him should something happen.

The seal was torn—just the slightest bit. But it was enough for a faint thread of youki to leak out. It was being drawn out and around him, leading to a faint point at his side where it was slowly gathering, mixing with the faintest cloud of spirit energy.

"What is this all about?" He asked quietly, not directing it to the wolf, nor to the fire demon. Nor even to himself. He didn't expect an answer, and was thus surprised to receive one. The gathering spirit energy wavered and settled, and Kurama found himself looking down at an image out of his memory. Wide, gold flecked purple eyes peeked shyly from beneath red fringe, a small hand twisted in to the fabric of his shirt.

"They called me a demon. Those I protected feared me. Cursed me. I killed so many…killed so many to protect a few. I…numbed myself to it all." He buried his face into Kurama's side, and surprisingly, the fox could _feel_ the weight there. Not as much as there should be, only an…impression. The voice sounded surprisingly steady, "After Tobu Fushima…I swore to never kill again. I swore to never seek violence. I swore to protect. That power…it was wild. It wanted the fight. It wanted to kill. I threw it away. I'm so sorry, Kura. I gave it up and threw it away."

Kurama was faintly aware of Hiei narrating the exchange for the wolf demon, but didn't pay much attention to them.

_One cannot pass on when one is torn in two._

The swordsman's sad words, under the dappled shadows cast by the sun through leaves.

"This one is so tired, papa." The muffled voiced drifted up to him, constricting Kurama's heart. A heart that was already worn with grief from the results of his soul searching. He gained a kit and lost him, only to find him, learning he's been long since dead. He knew now. He loosened his grip on his youki, not resisting as the full transformation washed over him. This felt familiar, holding the life force of his kit in his claws. Just as he did then, he gently nudged the flickering aura, weaving his own youki among the frayed blue to support it. It wasn't dispersed, as he'd assumed before. It was torn. Ragged. Bits were missing, places where rivers of gold should run were instead haphazardly filled by blue.

He couldn't fill the channels this time. His kit was dead. Tied to the human world by his torn soul.

A trickle of youki tried to fill the channels. But it was too small. The sword. Kurama still held it in his nerveless hand. The seals _burned_ at him, reacting to the unshielded power of his own youki, but he knew what was behind them now. He turned molten gold eyes on the silent wolf, who'd been smoking thoughtfully throughout the exchange. "Why did you bring this?" He jerked his head at the wakazashi smoking in his hand.

"We were enemies." The wolf took a deep breath, followed by a slowly exhaled a plume of smoke into the night, "We were allies. But we were friends. It's complicated. The idiot's sword style killed him in the end, but his master could not understand why. He'd had the healing, he said, or else he wouldn't have been taught."

He stared at the sword, "The kitsune-doctor was the first one to figure it out. His brat was born with youki. But Battousai never showed more than a flicker. Not since Tobu Fushima. The Kamiya girl was completely human."

"The idiot killed himself through his folly." The words were a growl. "I could never forgive him for that."

 _Draws the killing blade…_ The impression echoed along with the name given. He turned away from the wolf. He hesitantly put his hand on the child's head. It was solid, but just barely. Kurama's own youki was helping to sustain the ghost. The wolf could see him now, Kurama knew. He knew with the way those eyes were boring in to the small child at his side.

"You… aren't an ordinary brat, are you?"

Kurama snorted, his clawed fingers twining into nearly insubstantial hair. It was like trying to hold a cloud. He had to be careful. Careful or it would drift apart, and he could lose it. "You were wrong, wolf. I'm not his. He is _mine."_

The fox slid his clawed hand down to the child's face carefully, tilting the head up as Kurama knelt down to be on level with him. He set the wakazashi carefully on the ground, his hand aching from the seals he'd been holding on to. "Battousai…was that the name you chose?"

The child shook his head. "They gave it to me. In Kyoto. I didn't want it. My name…" His eyes unfocused, "I chose…Shinta…but…Kenshin. Kenshin was my name. Shishou gave it to me. Himura Kenshin."

 _Heart of the Sword._ And that fit. It fit in the way Shinta never had, over a hundred years ago, when a young kit hopefully approached him, searching for his name.

"You simplify it, Battousai." The wolf tossed the spent cigarette to the ground, grinding it into the cobblestone path, "You earned that name. It is as much your name as the others. You need to accept it."

With a harsh sigh and a shake of his head the wolf stalked down the path, dying embers slowly fading where he once stood.

The child had actually lifted his head at that, and watched the wolf leave. "I do accept it. But I don't _want_ to be that again, Kura." He reluctantly released Kurama's shirt, and the faint pressure left his side feeling empty. Kurama saw the child start to fade and grabbed at the frayed end of the bond, the same time placing the hilt at the child's feet. He left his hand on the seal, ignoring the burn, "Kenshin."

The spirit wavered, staring down at it. Almost afraid. "I got him to seal it away. So it wouldn't make me hurt again. It blinded me. I…killed her…"

"Kenshin." He knew things now he didn't know back then. His voice was soft, comforting. He took the ghost's small hand in his free one, gently tugging down to the sword on the ground. It was trembling. He wondered how he was keeping so calm. "It didn't _make_ you do anything."

"Yes it-" Kurama cut off the protest with a look. One that felt natural to him, despite not needing to use it for a century, "You are _not_ a demon, Kenshin. You never were. I am, yes, but you aren't."

"The monk said I was tainted…" The voice was quiet, lost. "A demon. He said it would make me kill again."

"It is just power, Kenshin. It cannot make you do anything. It healed you. It extended your life. It gave you strength. It gave you speed. But you were still _human."_

A couple moments of silence, and the child looked up, face streaked with phantom tears. "That was what…Sayuri said…She said…I didn't belong with you. That I was human. I didn't want to believe her."

  1. Kurama's heart went cold. He had a name. He had a name for the one whole stole his kit away, so long ago. The anger. That frantic rage that had coursed through him upon finding the den empty came back to him now. He set it to simmer instead; he could deal with that later. His kit needed him now, "You _always_ belonged. You were _my_ kit." He squeezed the hand he was holding. Not too hard, while his and the sword's youki _were_ sustaining him, he was still only a shadow. "Human or not. Demon or not. You are who you are. As am I."



He reversed the transformation one more time, silver fading to red, gold darkening to green. He smiled comfortingly down at his kit, an expression that came more easily to this form, "I'm in much the same debacle now. My body is human. But I was a demon. I still have my power. I still have my memories. Yet at the core, I am still me."

"A hitokiri will always be a hitokiri…but that hitokiri was also a rurouni." The murmured line drifted out as the spirit wavered, returning to the jaded teenager. His hand did not tremble now. He was at the same level at Kurama now, looking him straight in the eye, "I waited for you, Father."

"I looked for you." Kurama responded simply. He didn't mind the title. "For years."

"I know. I could sense it, somehow." The answer was quiet. "I felt you die."

He nodded.

The teenager slumped, "What's it like? The place beyond this world."

"I never got there." Kurama murmured. "But…Kuronue did. Chasing that silly hat of his."

"Kuro-nii…" The teenage voice wavered, becoming deeper, softer, more stable. Now the peaceful swordsman knelt beside him, his hand resting on Kurama's of its own accord. He hadn't noticed before, but the scar was now nearly invisible, thin lines of a slightly different shade, long since faded by time.

The sealing paper burned up beneath their hands. Kurama pulled back as the youki burst out of confinement, rushing like a torrent once a dam has been broken. It rushed to fill the channels, to knit together that which had been shredded for so long. Kurama helped to guide it, carefully weaving the threads of youki and spirit energy together, making sure the strength of the youki didn't completely tear apart the spider web that was a ghost's energies. It was probably even more potent now than when it was exorcized. Demons gained power over time, and through harsh training. Even for that, Kurama was awed by how strong his kit had become. His kit had been more than human, true, but it would have taken some serious training to obtain even half this much from the little he started with.

Battousai…just what happened to his kit to earn him such a name? Just what had he gone through?

At last it was done. The spirit's form had wavered throughout the process, almost dissolving, but Kurama had held on. It took a moment to stabilize. The resulting image was neither the older, worn and tired swordsman, nor the coiled, jaded teenager. Kurama took in the gold-flecked purple eyes, the brighter, even more vibrant hair, shot with faint strands of gold. He was younger, but that angry red scar was faded somewhat, no longer a raw badge of shame, but a memento. Kenshin looked up from where he'd been studying the paired swords at his side. The wakazashi remained empty on the ground, its burden released, but an exact copy of it now rested above the swordsman's katana. A ghost's appearance was as much a reflection of its psyche, Kurama noted, as it was their appearance in life.

"I feel…Right." Kenshin looked up. He turned to the grave behind him, reaching out tentatively to the shadowed stone behind him. His hand passed through it, and he drew it back, sighing, "I thought…"

Kurama shook his head, "With enough will, either yours or another's, you can interact with the world. But as you said, your life ended long ago."

Kenshin smiled wryly, "I didn't realize that was you at the time. You looked like you could be one of Aneko or Katsuya's children. They used to come by fairly often, but none of them could see me."

"I am." Kurama forced a laugh. It sounded hollow to his ears, "Technically I am Katsuya's son."

"So that means…I'm your great…great…" The spirit counted the relation on his fingers, shaking his head, as if to get the thought out of his mind, "Oro…"

It _was_ a rather absurd notion, Kurama had to admit it.


	6. The Reunion

Hiei had left the moment he'd felt the surge of energy. He'd almost felt…wrong watching that conversation. He scoffed at the notion-it was just meaningless sap. In fact, he was disgusted that the fox, who was normally a sensible demon, if too attached to that woman, had indulged in it.

It didn't make him feel uncomfortable. Or shamed that he'd essentially eavesdropped on a rather private conversation. Not at all.

Even if he did—which he didn't—he'd had to stay to the end anyway. He had to make sure the primary objective was completed. Then he had to report back, so the mission could finally be finished.

He reached out with his Jagen momentarily, sweeping in the direction of the cemetery one last time. The amount of youki released had surprised him, he had to admit. It was at least on par with Saito's. Something no human, without a drop of demon blood, should be able to contain.

His probe found that the frail cobweb of spirit energy had survived the onslaught of energy. Good. If they'd managed to release the energy without Kurama there…Hiei doubted it would have gone so well. Saito had thought they might need one of Himura's descendants to unseal the sword, but the older woman at the dojo wouldn't have been able to do anything if the energy had just rampaged the already weak spirit. Kurama was able to direct it.

Once he got far enough away from the cemetery, he stopped jumping, taking a precarious perch on the top of a streetlight, glowing softly over an empty street. He pulled out the communicator the detectives were required to carry, and flipped it open, waiting silently for Botan's face to pop up on the circular screen.

"Oh Hiei! Yuusuke's been complaining like crazy since you left him behind. Is everything okay? Did you find him? Did the wolf behave?"

Hiei rolled his eyes at the grim reaper. She talked too much for his taste. Asked too many questions, "Mission accomplished."

"Oh good! I'll be right there."

The communicator died with a strangled buzz, and Hiei waited rather impatiently for the glowing green portal to pop into existence above him, spitting out the bubbly blue haired form of the ferry girl. She was sitting side-saddle on her oar like usual, bright pink kimono a glaring eyesore against the dark sky. He let out an exasperated sigh, it really was a good thing she was invisible.

Botan wasn't the only one riding the oar today, Hiei noticed. There was another woman seated behind her, but Hiei couldn't see much. She had her face buried in Botan's back, long black hair streaming out behind her as Botan set the oar in a looping dive to meet up with Hiei. The fire demon had to smirk at the arms clenched tightly about the grim reaper's middle. Botan didn't seem to realize just how terrifying her flying could be.

Botan pulled up beside him, looking around back and forth quizzically, "Hiei, this doesn't look like the right place. You could have just called from there, you know."

"Hn."

"Well, where is it? I hope it isn't too far. And where's Saito? I was supposed to get him back to the Makai…"

Hiei jerked his head in the direction of the cemetery, about a thirty minute walk. Or maybe 10 minutes, given how Botan liked to fly. "Head for the fox."

"Oh! Kurama's here?!" The rest of her garbled words were lost in a rush of wind.

He heard Botan's passenger let out a whimper, and it cheered him up significantly as Hiei had to jump from the lamp post, bounce off the wall of a nearby building, and then aim his trajectory directly through the steadily shrinking portal. Like hell was he walking back. He knew he was going to get told off for losing track of the wolf, but that wasn't Hiei's problem any longer.

x-x-x

A blast of wind was his first warning that hurricane Botan was in town. The second was the excited squeal coming from somewhere over Kurama's shoulder.

"Oooh. Sayuri was right. He IS cute."

He took a deep breath, forcing his fists to unclench—there were no claws digging in to his hands this time, luckily—he might have to have a talk with Koenma after all this. Especially if Botan was referring to who he suspected she was.

He had needed to talk to the godling anyway. This was just one thing that jumped to the top of the list.

He turned to face the reaper, who bounded up to his side, "Hey Kurama! I didn't know you'd been called on this mission. Lord Koenma said something about you being unavailable."

"I was in the area." Kurama responded smoothly, returning her greeting as she continued on past. She was headed for Kenshin, who was staring past Botan, something that looked like shame and disbelief warring across his face. Kurama looked away as Botan made herself acquainted with the adorable sputtering red head, noting that Botan hadn't come alone. Botan's oar remained floating where she left it, but a tall dark figure stood leaning against a nearby grave marker, taking in deep gulping breaths of air and doing her best to calm the shakes that were generally indicative of a first ride with Botan.

_Sayuri?_

But no. If he was right, Sayuri would be used to oar flying. And another one of the scentless spirit entities that acted as the Spirit World's grim reapers. He took a breath, tasting the scents on the air…

…Fox. Wrapped up with a blend of scents that even he could not completely identify. He picked out the scent of reishi and ganzou root. Common medicinal herbs.

He hadn't run in to another fox in so long. As he studied her, she became aware of his scrutiny. She straightened under his gaze, returning it with a cool stare. She seemed…almost regal. Kurama had never been one for kings and queens, preferring to steal from them, but he could appreciate good composure. Proud, confident, untouchable—he could forgive the momentary lapse he'd first observed. Botan's flying even made him hesitate.

Chin held high, she sashayed past. Her long hair flicked like a banner, black, a faint green sheen in the distant light. A black fox, he guessed. A fox's glamour could change hair color as easily as it changed clothes, but most didn't even bother. She gave him a sidelong, appraising look, but didn't seem too interested. Her dark eyes were inevitably drawn back to the swordsman under Botan's tender introductions. For a moment Kurama could almost see the black fox ears twitching beneath her glamour, but then the illusion fell back into place. He arched an eyebrow, following her progress as she approached the spot where Botan was drowning an overwhelmed Kenshin with her chatter. A black fox's strength tended to be in illusion. If she'd let her glamour slip, it would have been on purpose.

He followed behind, bemused, as the arrival of the woman _finally_ caused Botan to stop running circles around the poor spirit. Kenshin reeled at the sudden reprieve, but almost shrunk back when he noticed the fox woman's entrance.

"Megumi-dono…" He breathed, and he moved to say more when she marched right on up to him, bringing her hand across and slapping him soundly across the face.

It made no sound. He wasn't solid. Wasn't corporal. Her slapping motion was halted briefly by the faint resistance his youki gave him, but proceeded to pass right through. Kenshin reacted as if it had connected. Wide-eyed and staring at her he stumbled back, before lowering his eyes in shame. "This one deserved that…"

"A present from Kaoru, Ken-san. You've kept her waiting for too long. You know her temper." The woman—Megumi—smiled tightly. She was angry. But it was a quiet, controlled anger. Old anger, long since left to simmer, "I imagine she'll have some words for you. And a bokken or two."

"Ororo…"Kenshin sighed, and quit rubbing the reddening cheek. He dropped into a formal bow, a deep one for deep respect. There was history here. "This one begs your forgiveness, Megumi-dono."

"You _owe_ me more than an apology, Ken-san." She pursed her lips, and then a fire was burning in those sharp eyes, she idly twirled a lock of hair around her fingers, "And likely a good amount of groveling too. Why didn't you tell _me?_ "

Kenshin blanched. And Kurama had a good idea what it was she was referring to. He shook his head in sympathy for his wayward kit. His decision to denounce his youki seemed to have soured more than a few apples. There had been the grudging wolf demon, and now a kitsune with a vendetta. Kurama sighed and grabbed Botan by the arm, leading the protesting grim reaper out of earshot. She looked far too interested in the proceedings, and it really wasn't any of her business. Old skeletons. Old regrets. Old friends.

Just because they were out of her hearing range didn't mean they were out of _his._

x-x-x

"To be fair, Megumi-dono, you did not inform this one either."

The murmured response stopped her indignant fuming. The fox was silent, composing herself. Her response was delivered without malice, but it cut Kenshin to the core. " _My_ secret didn't result in my _death._ _My_ secret wasn't being withheld from my _healer_. _My_ secret didn't lead that healer to misdiagnose, and later _fail_ to save her you had just told me I could have found the sword—we could have gotten your healing started—your body had been battered from using the Hiten, but with that amount of power—"

"And then what, Megumi-dono?" He whispered, cutting her off, drawing back into the past. He may have come to terms with himself, but it had taken him years to do it. Years, and the prompting of the one he'd always wanted to make proud. Shishou might have been the one to raise him, but Youko Kurama had been Kenshin's father. "Kaoru hated the Battousai. How would she have liked to know the man she married was a demon, as I thought I was? Better to keep my vow. To be human for her. To die with her."

As he'd hated the Battousai. As he'd feared the gift his father had left to him, the gift Shishou honed to a deadly edge. He'd started to come to terms with it during the Bakamatsu. He could do things very few others could. Only Saitou Hajime of the Shinsengumi could keep up with him, and now he knew why. The breaking point had been the moment he'd trusted his instincts and blindly stuck, relying on that power to guide his strikes. He'd survived. He'd killed the assassins, only to have his sword pierce the breast of the woman he loved.

He couldn't do that to Kaoru. He'd almost had to—with Jin-e. His body had still remembered the power, and it had left its mark even if he was but a shadow of what he used to be.

He didn't want to see the fear in her eyes, like when she thought he'd gone back to the hitokiri. She'd been so relieved afterward, that he'd left Battousai behind. That he was just Kenshin, the Rurouni.

He couldn't have torn that from her, even if he'd known that doing so could save his life.

"We are not _Oni,_ Ken-san. Kaoru would have understood." The term demon was so ambiguous. Oni, the demons used to frighten children, who would come in the night and carry off and eat those who disobeyed. "What she couldn't take was finding out— as we all did. Y _ou weren't there._ " Megumi took a deep breath. She looked as she always had, tall and beautiful, captivating. Her clothing style had changed to reflect the modern era, but Kenshin could still see the kind, if somewhat contrary healer he remembered. "I don't think this last century has appeased her much. She was ferried, expecting to find you and give you a piece of her mind, only to find you _missing._ "

Megumi shook her head when he started to speak. He hadn't _known_ it would end this way. "Don't say anything. I expect you knew nothing of your…handicap. But it does not make it easier. I too know what it is like to outlive a love one. Sanosuke held on, but he was human." She averted her face, looking for something else amongst the cluster of monuments. Sanosuke was buried right over there, two plots down. A second name was carved on his stone, even if his ashes rested alone. "I'm still alive. I cannot enter the realms of the dead. Not beyond the Lord of the Dead's palace. I cannot see the golden fields where they all wait. I cannot see him. Or speak to him."

Kenshin knew she was hurting. Knew she was too proud to show it. She'd felt much as he had since his death. Waiting. Missing something—someone. Knew exactly where they were, but unable to get there. When the ferry girl who came for him looked right past him, he'd despaired. He'd wanted to die human, but there was still that tie. He wasn't whole.

He also knew she'd never let anyone her cry.

"I envy you, Ken-san. You will get to join them." A moment of vulnerability, and then it was gone, and she was looking at him again, "It really is good to see you again. I'd heard the spirit world was trying to resolve your case at last. Saito found the sword a few decades ago, but no one could find you. No one expected you to be _here."_

"This one did leave…occasionally. But mostly…I slept, Megumi. I was invisible to all, even those meant to see spirits." He spread his hands helplessly.

"That's because you weren't actually a spirit." The chipper blue haired grim-reaper—and Kenshin was still baffled by the hair color. Blue? Really? – seemed to have finally managed to dodge his father's intervention. Kenshin was thankful that Kurama had drawn her off, giving him and Megumi some time to clear the air, but she seemed to think they'd talked long enough and inserted herself rather authoritatively in their midst. "You are a human; you should have been able to live without all that foreign energy quite easily. We still don't know exactly _why_ you essentially have the energy matrix of a half-demon, but we guess it has something to do with why you lived as long as you did; you were scheduled to be picked up as an infant."

She doesn't _know_?

"Yuusuke was human." And Father had joined them at last. Kenshin glanced at Kurama, still unnerved to see the red hair and green eyes when he wanted to see silver and gold. Father had always loomed tall and strong in his memory. Unmovable, but sheltering, and even kind. It was strange to see him like this, as a child, only a handful of years older than Yahiko. As old as Kenji, the last time Kenshin saw him.

Father knew. Kenshin didn't know the specifics, but he _knew_ the power was his father's gift. He remembered the feel of his father holding him, when he was no more substantial than a puff of mist, healing the torn shreds of his soul… A feeling that was eerily similar to dreams he'd been having all his life… Freezing cold. Death was calling for him. And then warmth. Clawed hands holding him gently.

Father was keeping it from the reaper. She debated the comment, but shook her head dismissively, "Yuusuke revived as a demon in body, remember? Besides, that sort of recessive history is usually traceable, and really rare. He isn't even like you, Kurama. You may have a human body, but your core is still entirely youki. You are more like water filling a jar. He's…different." Kenshin felt uncomfortable with this line of discussion, but even more with the way she was looking at him, as if she was seeing something else. Maybe she was. She _was_ a ferry girl. A grim reaper. A death god.

He shifted uncomfortably as she reached out to touch him, waiting for the awkward feeling of cold and emptiness as her hand passed through him, much as when Megumi had slapped him earlier. To his shock he _felt_ it connect. The contact sent a shiver through his soul, as if he were a _biwa_ she was plucking lightly, sending the strings vibrating.

"It's beautiful." Her touch terrified him. It wasn't even logical fear. It was a deep rooted, unexplainable terror that led to him flinching away, breaking the contact. She didn't seem to notice, "It's all woven together, spirit energy and youki. No wonder the exorcism tore him up as it did. A half demon would have been able to live and die as a human under the same circumstances; they tend toward extremes, and divide their nature accordingly. Remove one and they shift toward the other. You however, rely on balance. Trying to remove one half of a tapestry—you are lucky you managed to keep yourself together as long as you did!"

Botan clicked her tongue disapprovingly, latching on to Kenshin's arm as if he wasn't just a mass of energies without any corporal properties. He braced himself for that same feeling of terror, or wrong-ness, but whatever she'd done, she wasn't doing now. It felt the same as if it were Misao who'd latched on to his arm, years and years ago. "I'm sorry Megumi, I _know_ I promised you could have more time but Koenma reeaaaally wants to get this done tonight. Enma hates loose ends and inconsistencies in the ledgers and, well, you know how it goes when he springs a surprise visit on us." Kenshin didn't notice when she'd summoned her oar, but she held it in her other hand now, stamping the end lightly against the ground to emphasize her point.

"Of course." Megumi inclined her head, she'd resumed her normal airs, airs that had once both captivated and infuriated a rough and tumble street fighter, "May I remain in the human world, or is my term up with this resolution?"

"You could go or stay if you like." Botan smiled warmly at her, "You've been a great help over the years and we know you wouldn't hurt anyone. Would you mind if I visited every once in a while? Every now and then a girl's got to get away from work."

A genuine smile crossed Megumi's face; a light growing in her eyes that Kenshin hadn't realized was missing. Megumi was lonely. He'd known that, but he hadn't realized how lonely, "I'd love it if you would, Botan. I think I shall stay here for a while more, however."

"Suit yourself!" She hopped on to the oar, dragging a somewhat protesting swordsman along behind her. Her grip was like iron now, latching on to his spirit in a way that really unnerved him. He wasn't really fighting, it was time to move on, but…His gaze shifted back and forth between Megumi and Kurama. His friend and his Father. There was so much he wanted to say to the both of them. So many years lost. He opened his mouth to stop Botan, to ask for just a _little_ more time, but he caught Kurama shaking his head. He stopped, focusing on the youth who was too young. Those green eyes were sad, full of pain, but he was smiling, and Kenshin managed to read the mouthed words before Botan kicked the oar into the air, and all sense was lost in a wavering string of "Ororororororororororo…"

_I'll catch up._

Kenshin clung to Death amongst the rushing of wind and did _not_ find the irony amusing in the slightest.

x-x-x

Kurama watched as the glowing green portal collapse in on itself, swallowing death and her charge. He shook his head to clear it, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He ran his hand through his hair, returning the seed he'd pulled out so long ago. He felt drained. Numb. The sky was lightening, dawn was coming. Time marched on, even as Kurama just wanted it to _stop_.

_Kit…_

Ten minutes wasn't long enough. Twenty minutes. Twenty years probably wouldn't be long enough.

But he didn't have twenty years. He probably had more like four or five hours until his mother and he were scheduled to return home. Then he could arrange to get to the spirit world. He probably won't be in time to catch Kenshin's processing, but…well…there would be time for that yet.

But for now, he had another lead to follow.

He left Megumi in the cemetery, but not without a backward glance. She was kneeling before a grave. Not Kenshin's, but one of the others. Her head rested against the weathered stone, eyes closed. He could taste salt on the wind, but did not see anything. And if he didn't see anything, she didn't have to pretend.

Kurama caught up with his quarry outside the fenced in cemetery—Kurama had known he hadn't gone far, but hadn't expected to find him so easily. The steadily growing tobacco scent beckoned, and soon Kurama could see the smoke rising, dark against the steady glow of the street light. The wolf, still dressed in his suit, was leaning against the wall of a building, just down the street. He eyed Kurama's approach, holding the smoking cigarette loosely, "Back to boring normalcy, I see."

Kurama didn't answer. The wolf took another drag, the ember flaring. He exhaled again, tapping the spent ashes off the end, "Speak up. What do you want, Detective?"

"Tell me what you know." Kurama's voice was soft, but it was not a request. The wolf quirked an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his face.

"How long do you have?"

"Long enough."

"Then settle in, fox." The smoke curled lazily into the sky, tugged here and there by minute shifts in the wind, "And let me tell you the story of Himura the Battousai."

x-x-x


	7. The Debt

He hated paperwork. Koenma grumbled to himself, supporting his head in his hand as he flicked the nearest file folder from "Under Review", off his desk, and vaguely toward the "Resolved" pile that was growing—too slowly—on the floor. His father was due back within the week, and there was far too much to be finished. His father was losing patience, Koenma knew, but really, it wasn't _his_ fault that souls occasionally weren't collected correctly. Every once in a while, the random soul will get devoured by a rogue demon, but those were generally traceable. It was the anomalies like this most recent one that left conspicuous absences and misbalances in the ledger.

Getting that assassin was a good start, and at least he had some progress to show his father. That one was a weird case. Twice over. He still didn't know why they managed to get a lock on the ghost after almost a century of nothing. Collecting the assassin had also calmed down the growing unrest of a small, but willful group of souls. That Kaoru Kamiya had been a thorn in his side since she realized her husband had fallen through the cracks. Now he would be able to go a day without George or Botan bringing him news of her disruptions, and he was looking forward to it.

Although George had mentioned the reunion had set his ears ringing, and had muttered something about wooden swords as he scurried back to work.

The drifting file folder went wide of the pile, sending his assistant Ayame scrambling to chase after it. He almost told her not to bother but thought better of it, letting the ferry girl tidy as she pleased. He had a small pile of similar cases he still needed to go through, including a more recent pair of souls that were still alive and duking it out somewhere in Europe. They both should have been collected sixteen years ago, according to the ledgers. But they weren't dead. He toyed with the idea of sending one of the detectives—or even just Botan—out there to determine _why_ , but just set the case aside. His father may have just gone and collected the souls himself—whether they were alive or not—but Koenma didn't really agree with his father's viewpoint that all aberrations should be resolved swiftly and decisively. He would wait until they died, and just make sure they were collected then. No mess that way, and only a limited amount of collateral damage.

The door opened, but Koenma didn't look up. He grumbled around his pacifier as he squinted at the cramped writing. This one might just be a case of a rogue demon having a snack—apparently those European wizards recently lost control of those dementors of theirs…He might have to dispatch a couple more ferry girls over there to try and reign those in…

"Um…sir? You have a visitor…"

"Can't they tell I'm busy?" Koenma waved dismissively at Ayame, "Tell them to go away."

He was the current ruling Lord of the Spirit World. He was the one to summon people, not the other way around. He _might_ be more accommodating if it weren't for his father's impending visit, but with the way things stood he didn't really have the time.

"Um. _Sir."_ The ferry girl's voice shook, ending in a choke as she stumbled over her own words. He slammed the file on to the desk, head bobbing in an attempt to glare at the ferry girl and the uninvited visitor, " _Ayame!_ What—"

He cut the demand off, staring open mouthed at the sight of his assistant bound head to foot in a writhing pile of green vines. Her dark eyes were pleading at him to do something, anything, but she couldn't make a sound due to the dark green leaf pressed against her mouth.

" _Koenma._ We need to _talk._ "

That was a voice he didn't hear very often. Koenma turned toward the front of his desk, his eyes widening at the sight waiting impatiently in front of his desk. Youko Kurama stood before his desk, agitated youki almost visible in a roiling aura around the fox. The folder Koenma had just discarded was held tightly in a clawed grip, cold— _furious_ —golden eyes glared at the godling through silver fringe. Koenma had witnessed Kurama's full transformation a few times in the fox's tenure as a Spirit Detective, but never had all that demonic fury been directed at _him._

"What are you doing!?" Koenma burst out, spotting a similarly bound George lying helpless near the entrance to the room. He jumped on to the desk, bringing him to near eye level of the glowering fox. He was a _god_. He couldn't let one of his own detectives intimidate him! "Don't forget you are still on probation!"

x-x-x

"I haven't hurt anyone." His words were cold. Youko didn't turn away from the godling, but he reached for his plants. They perked up, responding immediately to the appropriate audio cue as he snapped his fingers. Thick brown roots uncurled from the mass of green at the ferry girl's feet. She wasn't the one who deserved his ire. She was Ayame. Koenma's research assistant. She let out a strangled squeak as the room around her lurched, the mobile plant calmly, but unceremoniously carried her toward the door. He could hear shouting from behind him as the ogre was dragged out shortly after—he'd given both the same order. Youko let out the breath he'd been holding, easing his youki out of the vines. The door slammed behind him, and he was dimly aware of the ogre shouting obscenities at the vines that would now be curled tightly around the door.

"What is this about, Youko?" With his assistants safe, Koenma was now more angry than afraid. There was a tick developing, and his hands were folded behind his back.

What was this about? _What was this about_? Youko had to be careful not to clench his fists; the claws would easily shred the folder he held there. Youko took a deep breath, letting his anger simmer. He picked the least confrontational issue he had, but even that came out bitter and harsh.

"Next time a mission involves my _family_ , I'd appreciate to be told."

Koenma seemed confused at that. The godling's indignant fuming gave way to puzzled irritation. He really didn't know? Hiei should have reported by now. Youko moved closer to the desk, tapping the file against the lacquered wood. Tap. Tap. Tap. Koenma began to twitch along with the tapping, and Youko had to snatch the folder back when the godling made a grab for it. Luckily, Koenma seemed to have recognized the characters neatly inked on to the front. Too neat to be Koenma's writing. Likely the ferry girl's. "We weren't aware of it, Kurama, it was a century old case. I will be sure to keep the genealogy on hand, next time."

A century old case. A century of lost time. Almost a century worth of reckless abandonment, both searching, and pulling increasingly daring heists. No, a century wasn't all that insignificant. Neither was the sarcasm.

"I do not appreciate the jesting, Koenma."

The godling sucked in a breath at that, biting off whatever he'd been planning to say. The godling may look childish, but he was older than Youko was. He made a calming motion, sitting back into his chair and folding his hands on the desk before him. It would have been the perfect image of a worn, but patient superior addressing an insubordinate underling If only he didn't look as if he should still be confined to the den.

"That can't be what this is all about. You wouldn't assault my assistants, not to mention put your parole at stake for something like that. You are one of the more reasonable of the detectives—don't behave like Yuusuke. This assassin was dead long before you became connected to the family." He waved one hand dismissively. " _Tell_ me what the problem is—what do you want?"

What was the problem? What did he _want?_ That question broke through the turbulence of his anger. What did he want? He didn't know what he wanted. He was so angry, sick, tired, hurt. A century's worth of loss, all compounded in a single night. And his kit. His kit _dead_ and beyond his reach. It had stewed within him the entire trip back home. Neither he nor his mother had been one to talk, each leaving the other to their grief. She'd tried some comforting words, but he had never been one to accept comfort.

His kit. He wanted his kit. He wanted all those years back. He wanted to have not accepted that heist, all those years ago.

He almost wished he had never visited the Kamiya Dojo.

"I want to know what is being done about Himura Kenshin." The fox said after a few moments of silence. The godling wouldn't understand. To him Kenshin had merely been a distant relation, if even that. He would probably assume Youko was angry about the contingency plan to abduct his aunt to break the seal, not that his kit— _son_ —had been ferried right before his eyes.

Koenma frowned. No. He didn't understand. The godling's anger was gone now, diverted by Kurama's calm, if cold façade. He sighed, shaking his head mournfully. "This has nothing to do with you, Fox. The assassin's fate is his own-even if you claim family. The processes of the afterlife are immensely personal, something not even kin may know."

It was a well-rehearsed response. Polite refusal, appropriately mysterious, with just the right amount of finality. It _infuriated_ the fox. He was being treated as if he were some spirit aware old woman, searching out the soul of a loved one even to the gates of King Enma's palace. A well-meaning, but misguided soul.

"Are you denying my request, godling?" Youko's eyes narrowed, tightening to slits of color in the otherwise whitewashed face. His tone was ice. Scathing. The folder smacked against the wood of the desk, many of the reports scattering to mix with others. They came to rest before Koenma's hands. Multiple photos were clipped in amongst the papers. This particular soul had been the subject of multiple cases. One of the photos stuck out at Youko, and he snatched it up, pulling it out from between messed up sheets. He left it on the top of the pile, the ashen face of a scared child stared up at them, sending stabs of pain into Youko's heart. He was quiet for a moment, and his words were soft at first, growing harder as he spoke the real issue that rested like a poisoned dagger in his heart, "The spirit world _owe_ s me, Koenma. You stole something worth _far_ more than anything I ever did."

"That child." Youko bit out the words, "Is _mine._ My _kit._ My _child_. And. You. Stole. Him."

Fists came down on the desk with a slam, prompting Koenma to push his chair back in shock. Claws bit through the wood, leaving deep grooves in the dark surface, leaving the papers beneath in shreds. He was careful to miss the photo. Kits were precious. Kits were cherished. Once they reached maturity they were on their own, he knew that, but his kit was stolen long before that. Even in human terms. His kit might have lived to grow old and die, but to Youko, he was still the tiny, naïve, curious, child that had wandered after him in the den, who longed to read the myriad of scrolls in Kurama's collection, who wrestled Kuronue in the den, who he'd watched stalk a two tailed fire cat as he'd learned to hunt.

"I _know_ what happened now, Koenma. One of your ferry girls had probably been picking up human spirit energy in a forested section of the Makai for a few years. One day she located the source. She found the child in the jungle, stalking a firecat. She swooped in to _save_ the child, using a weak anti-demon ward to knock the cat unconscious."

He had almost killed the cat for that. Only the fact that she had been known to protect humans with her life had spared her. She had once guarded a family, until the worlds were separated. She never had been able to help him figure out what took his kit. Some demon? He'd never even thought it could have been a ferry girl. Not until Kenshin had mentioned that night. The night he had been taken away.

"The child was frightened, but she probably attributed that to the demon she caught hunting him. She tried to calm him. He just wanted to go back to _Kura._ He was brought here, and it was discovered he should have been collected as a child. But he was still alive. So you decided to just return him to the human world, and wash your hands of him."

He wished he'd never gone out that night. He wished he'd never let his kit learn to hunt. Both he and Kuronue had caught him sneaking out to practice with the cat, after the first time. Kuronue had found the cat that night while Kurama had torn up the countryside, had brought her back to the den. His kit was gone. By scent and by sense, as if he'd been plucked out of the world. If none of that had happened…

"He was human." With that declaration, Youko knew his conclusions were correct. His anger was justified. He was near enough to the mark. Koenma was on his feet now, face turning red with—what? Embarrassment? Anger? "Humans are not permitted in the Makai—Youko, as you well know. Sayuri was well within her right to return him to the spirit world. Even _if_ you claim him, _you_ were the one to break the law by interfering in a soul being ferried."

Youko saw red. His ears were back against his head, almost invisible in the flow of silver hair. He bit off a snarl. His youki was blazing around him now, responding more to his heightened emotion than any conscious attempt at intimidation.

"Do _not_ seek to condemn me for saving a _life._ " The seeds within his hair were stirring in response to the surging energy, soon to grow into weapons that would jump to his hand. The fox closed his eyes and took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. He _really_ didn't want to fillet the godling. He was just angry. Really. Really. Angry. "I saved the child's life, and in doing so, he became _mine._ You must know at least _something_ about kitsune. We are beings as much of energy as we are of flesh. That child wanted to live. He accepted my youki, and in doing so a bond was created. One that your ferry girl _tried to break."_

"I want no quarrel with the spirit world, Koenma." The fox said at length, some of the bite draining out of his words. "All I want from you is to know what happened to my kit. I want to know he's been treated well. And a promise. A promise for the courtesy of being _told_ when a mission involves my family. Don't give me that drivel about old information." Youko flicked his wrist dismissively when Koenma began to speak, "I know full well that Saito would have grabbed my Aunt, had I not been there to break the seal. It wouldn't have worked, and it would have terrified her."

It would have destroyed his kit. Youko knew that now. Kenshin had been too weak; his soul too tattered, to accept back the youki without help.

x-x-x

Koenma swallowed, that exact argument freezing into a lump in his throat. He felt trapped. Kurama would be a bad enemy to make, especially for a case more than a century old. On the one hand, he had the policies laid down by his father, Lord Enma, King of the Dead. On the other, he had a very ticked off spirit fox, of at least A-class if not higher, whose request really wasn't all _that_ much…

"This is highly irregular." Koenma grumbled, deciding it would be better to bend— _just this time_ —in order to save face. Kurama was a member of his elite team, and it would be best to mend this breach before it got out of hand. He picked through the scattered paperwork, gathering up the sheets and slipping them back into the folder. He leafed through them before pulling out a blank sheet. A twist of will had spidery characters running across the page, a script used exclusively in the Spirit World, "The assassin was brought in and put through judgment. Normally, a human with that much blood on his hands would be a sure shot for hell. It gets muddy for soldiers, since there _is_ the factor of collective responsibility—" Koenma paused, seeing the impatience growing even further in the fox's stance. Those precedents don't usually apply for assassins—but, well, there were enough souls in good standing that stepped forward to speak for Himura. The godling cleared his throat, "He's been given a temporary reprieve to allow his soul to heal from the trauma before being re-entered in the reincarnation cycle. He'll be fine, Kurama. I assure you of that."

The fox was silent, and Koenma knew the question that was burning in Kurama's mind. The one that he dared not ask. He sighed, releasing any anger he still nursed for the fox's actions. He put a hand to his head, attempting to knead the ache out of his temples, "No, Kurama. I'm sorry."

The expression on that blank face barely flickered, no more than a slight clench of the jaw. Koenma stepped lightly from his desk, quickly busying himself in collecting the papers the entire situation had displaced. He heard the fox turn on his heel and stalk out of the room.

No living being may enter the realm of the dead.

There was one more sheet of paper, and he held it thoughtfully in his small fist. It was the image Youko had placed on the top of the pile. It was the picture of a small child, the image taken when one of his ferry girls had brought him in when they'd first found him. Koenma called up the memory, remembering the way the child had not trembled. Had not seemed scared. Only in those eyes had there been any fear.

' _Take me back…Kura. I want to go back.'_

The whispered words were the only ones the child had spoken despite all of Sayuri's prodding. Koenma hadn't thought much of it at the time. Sayuri's report had mentioned the child was confused. She'd noticed a weird tie in the child's aura, a slave bond she tried to break…but in the end only succeeded on numbing.

Not a slave bond. He knew that now, over a century since the mistake was made. A parent bond.

Koenma tucked the picture back with the others. He hesitated a moment, before placing the folder in to another pile. Not 'resolved'. No. The spirit world had a debt it needed to repay. Koenma always paid his debts.

It would take time, but he would.


	8. Epilogue

It seemed like any other home. A small single-family house teetering on the outskirts of the inner city. A good neighborhood. Low crime. Even supernatural crime seemed to vanish near this area—little surprise given the fact that one of the Spirit World’s greatest detectives supposedly lived in it.

Retired spirit detective, if the rumors were correct, for the last ten years or so.

Green eyes traced the characters etched into the name-plate, pulling up long unused and frankly outdated memories of this country’s script. He’d spent the last thirty years among people who used the roman-based alphabet exclusively, so the memories came sluggishly, buried under decades of unused and hazy recollection. Eventually they came, and he cross-checked the reading of the kanji against the Romanization he’d managed to pry from his informants.

Minamino. It matched. There couldn’t be too many with that last name in this neighborhood, could there? Even with their shared history, the bubbly blue-haired ferry girl hadn’t even wanted to give him the name of the city, much less the address. She’d turned downright protective when he’d begun asking questions. Only the fact that he _had_ gotten approval from her boss had allowed him to get this far.

He took a deep breath, striding up the small path to the door. It was up a set of stone steps, the house built along the edge of a small hill. Small tiered gardens were cut into the side, overflowing with green flora and bright flowers, petals spread wide and stretching to the sky. Hidden amongst the recognizable ningenkai flora were a few…otherworldly plants. Even a few he recognized from Herbology in school. That made him smile wistfully, thoughts drifting back to better days. Or perhaps they had been worse. It depended on how he decided to look at it.

But this visit had nothing to do with this lifetime. Of magic and wizards. It was a far older tie he chased, and the presence of those plants, native to the Makai, eased his doubts somewhat. They appeared to be sensor types, ones that would pick up on unfamiliar youki or ill intent. Luckily, he had neither.

He ignored the door buzzer entirely, instead rapping his knuckles against the door. The beats fell into a certain pattern, one that he only vaguely remembered.

The door opened, and he couldn’t help but stare at the sight that greeted him. He hadn’t quite known what to expect from the thief-turned-detective, but fiery red hair didn’t seem quite right. It reminded him of something else. Someone else. Someone he’d only known for a decade. Long for a human, but the blink of an eye for him, once upon a time.

The illusion was shattered by the green eyes and sharp face. He blinked and shook it off, meeting the assessing gaze with a smile somewhere between the polite greeting of a stranger, and the hopeful grin of an old friend. “Does Youko Kurama ring any bells?”

An eyebrow rose, vanishing within equally red bangs. “Perhaps. I thought I recognized the knock. I’m afraid I do not have much to offer those who would know it, nowadays.”

The knock. The secret beat of a band of thieves, long ago. A signal, to inform the others that the intruder was one of them.

“Harry Potter.” He held out his hand in greeting. It was the western way, but that’s how he’d been raised this time. Even if he remembered otherwise—bowing had never been his thing anyway. “I’m not here for anything, really. I haven’t had any contact with either of the other two worlds in decades, and only recently tried to track down old friends.”

Friends. Most of the band hadn’t been friends. Comrades perhaps. Trusted. But few had been _friends._

“Suuichi Minamino, but most in the know do call me Kurama.” The red-head took the hand politely, if stiffly. He stepped to the side, tilting his head in an invitation, “Perhaps this discussion would be better suited for less open spaces?”

“Lead the way.”

Harry trailed after his host, taking in the decorations. They were fairly traditional, and if there were more flower pots tucked away in different corners than most homes had, few would think it more than a personal quirk. The red-head definitely looked more…effeminate than he used to. The silver hair had been longer, yes, but it had been flat. Cold. Youko Kurama in general had been very sharp. Kurama, on the other hand, was much softer, even if Harry could easily see the edge wariness brought about by distrust.

He was actually in _more_ danger having been invited inside. Inside there would be no witnesses, and Harry knew better than most that in Kurama’s hands, those innocent looking lilies in the corner could be quite deadly.

He was led to a sitting room of sorts, a traditional low table along with floor cushions rather than the much larger western style chairs. It wasn’t a tatami room, but Kurama toed off his shoes anyway, leaving them near the door. After a moment, and a pointed glance from the red-head, Harry did the same. They settled on either side of the table, a small floral decoration sitting innocently between them.

“Please excuse my rudeness, but I’m afraid I do not recognize you, Mr. Potter.” The red-head began, folding his hands on the low table before him, “You have strange spirit energy, but I do not sense any youki. I am fairly certain my band of thieves did not count humans among its ranks.”

True enough, that. He smiled and scratched at his head, feeling the prickle of scar tissue beneath his fingertips. He’d grown out his bangs to hide the blasted thing. “I can’t feel much of yours either.”

Kurama hummed, “Hiding it then. I am getting the impression that you wish for me to guess as to your true identity?”

“Am I that transparent?” He was counting on the fox’s curiosity to push through. He didn’t want to just go around _claiming_ anything. He had been Harry for the last thirty years. He wasn’t sure he still _was_ the demon he remembered, when he got right down to it. His magic didn’t like his youki. He’d had to hide it so deep that he might as well be human.

“Quite the opposite in fact. Your human guise is surprisingly thorough.” The red-head continued to study him, “Obviously foreign, but accurate. Given the way you introduced yourself, you have probably been in Europe, or even the Americas. You speak Japanese quiet well, if with the usual Makai-born accent, but obviously have not been in Japan for some time, given you almost walked into my sitting room without removing your shoes. You seem as if you wish to be friendlier with me, but time and my own distance appear to be holding you back.”

Harry flushed, “Well, it’s been…” He counted off in his head, “…twenty-nine years since then.”

“Twenty-nine?” The red-head frowned, “It has been over a century since I disbanded the group…”

He trailed off. Harry waited, pointedly not correcting his statement. The answer was there, if Kurama would notice it. He hadn’t made a mistake with that number. It was true that the band of thieves had gone their separate ways over a century ago. 145 years ago, something precious had been stolen from the master thief. 130 years ago, Youko Kurama had withdrawn from the group he founded and ran, to begin a series of increasingly daring and dangerous heists. Alone. Reckless. Flirting with death.

Forty years ago he had finally managed to track down his old friend, after almost a century of wondering if he’d finally gotten himself killed, and _demanded_ to be allowed to help. He refused to let Youko take the burden alone, the grief. He refused every effort the fox had gone through to push him away.

Twenty-nine years ago…they had both died.

Kurama’s palms met the wood with a sudden thud, the red head pushing to his feet. Those curious eyes were now hard, even more distrustful. Harry frowned, _that_ wasn’t quite the reaction he’d been expecting.

“I have already had one person use Kuronue’s memory against me, and his fake was more convincing. I killed him for the audacity.” Kurama’s voice had dropped, frost crystalizing on every word, “Give me one good reason why I should not do the same to you?”

That ice. Harry knew it. He _remembered_ it. Gold was bleeding into green. Was that silver he could now see threading through that red hair, shining in the sun?

Even as his instincts screamed that he was going to die. Even as Youko’s familiar youki flared, unfurling from within the closed shell of Suuichi Minamino…

Harry felt _home_ again.

“ _Gods,_ I’ve missed you Youko.”

He couldn’t help it; a grin was tugging at his lips. One he’d perfected over the centuries, calculated to have just the right amount smug confidence, showing only the slightest flash of fang. Of course he only had blunt human teeth now…

He saw Kurama waver, but it was a momentary pause. Harry felt his youki stir, prodded sluggishly from its long, long sleep by the energy of his old friend. His magic recoiled, and Harry clamped down on them both. He didn’t want to deal with the conflict. It usually led to something exploding when he didn’t want to.

Harry—Kuronue—he hadn’t felt so much like Kuronue in _years—s_ tood up. Youko used to be the taller of the two. Now Harry was. The runt that used to be shoved under the cupboard had eventually grown into his own.

“I’m still waiting on that reason.” Harry wasn’t sure when the rose had appeared in the other’s hand. Youko hadn’t used quite so…showy a weapon when they’d been together, but the Rose Whip appeared to be the Spirit Detective’s weapon of choice according to the rumors Harry had been able to piece together.

“What are you expecting me to say?” Harry couldn’t do anything but shrug, “You’ve already made your choice. Whether you acknowledge me or not, I just wanted to see my friend again. If you don’t, I’ll just go back to my life.”

It wasn’t a bad one, all things considered. He had great friends, the eternal gratitude of the magical world, and even commendations from the ruler of the spirit world. Apparently in offing Voldemort he’d solved one of Koenma’s most headache inducing problems. He’d called on that favor in order to find Kurama.

He locked eyes with Kurama. Green with gold. The fox’s face was blank, sheltered. Even Kuronue hadn’t ever been able to read his friend when he’d closed off this much. It really did make him wonder about the other Kurama had spoken of, the one who’d claimed to be Kuronue. What had he done?

It chilled him to think of someone using _him_ to hurt his best friend.

The sound of running feet came from behind him. Harry found himself turning, even as Kurama hissed something under his breath, “Papa! Megumi said she’ll be a few minutes longer, but she’ll make it for dinner!”

A high, childish voice cut through the silence, the door thudding open. A ghost ran into Harry’s vision, straight out of the memories of his past. The child skidded to a halt in the doorframe half ducking behind it and looking warily between the half-transformed Kurama and the unfamiliar adult in the room. Red hair, brighter than Kurama’s human guise. It would make sense. _Papa._ Of course his children would have red hair. There was no need to jump to conclusions.

“Head to your room,” Youko’s voice was quiet, “I will join you when I finish here, okay?”

The boy nodded, ducking his head and moving to go. Harry stepped forward, “Wait!”

The boy froze, and turned back for a moment. Harry caught and held the boy’s gaze—violet, flecks of gold swimming in a sea of color.

And then he was gone, retreating down the hall.

Before Kurama could say anything, Harry broke the silence, breathing out an awed, “You _found_ him.”

He whirled around, beaming wildly at the conflicted face of his old friend. “I looked _everywhere_. I thought maybe one of the others had taken him, for revenge or leverage, but nothing. I’m so glad you finally found him!”

He really, really was. He hadn’t been the kit’s father, but damn it he’d found himself falling in love with the little brat. He released his hold on his youki, letting it rise tentatively, scenting the air and spreading out the gossamer web of energy senses. He could feel that bright little star, making its way further into the house. Human blue, streaked with gold. Only this time…this time the energy had a distinct taste of fox, whereas before it had been merely a whisper. “I thought the little pipsqueak was human—I thought…”

He’d be dead by now. That thought dampened his sudden excitement, drawing his mood down and dragging it through the mud. It couldn’t have been the kit. Just wishful thinking. Obviously Kurama had found himself a lady, and found himself with a child. The coloring was just a coincidence. Fate playing a cruel joke on a heart that had been broken enough as it was. “Damn…Sorry, Youko. Just wishful thinking. You have a cute kid. I guess I should get going…”

Get going before Youko decided to gut him for bringing up old memories. Painful memories. He ducked his head in farewell, and moved to leave, only to have a clawed hand curl around his, stopping the motion.

“Kuronue—wait.”

Harry forced himself to turn, the red-haired mostly-human completely gone now. The silver-haired fox demon was just as if he’d stepped out of Kuronue’s memories, barring the loose Chinese-style clothing he’d been wearing before the transformation, of course. Harry bit his lip, studying the oh so familiar face again, one he hadn’t seen in this entire life-time, other than in the fragmented dreams he’d eventually pieced together into memories.

“Yes?”

He couldn’t help the tentative hope that struggled to swell up when he’d heard his old name.

“I found him…but I was too late. Decades too late.”

Kuronue had only ever seen such sadness on his friend’s face twice before. Rage, yes. Confidence, yes. Calm, quite often. But grief…Once, after he’d spent all his anger at his kit’s loss. The second, when he looked back after Kuronue had told him to save himself. The last thing Kuronue had ever seen in that life.

“At least you could see him again.” Harry sighed, thinking back to the parents he’d never really met. They’d been oddly important to him, a confused boy with the soul of a demon who wasn’t quite sure which he actually was. He _was_ as much Harry Potter as he was Kuronue. Perhaps even more so.

“You did too.” Youko nodded toward the hallway. Harry stopped and stared, processing the implication of the gesture.

_“How…?”_

“Koenma pulled some strings. I may have…called in a debt they owed me. He is _mine_ this time. By energy and by blood.” And there was that oh so rare smile, one that Kuronue had only ever seen when Youko was watching his kit, and didn’t realize Kuronue had been there, “I’ve gotten a second chance.”

 _That_ would be why Kurama was an ex-Spirit Detective, even as the rumor mill had the others still working. Even THE Detective, Yuusuke Urameshi, who worked out of a ramen cart of all things. Harry felt his mood rising again, marveling at such a contented smile on his friend’s face.

“I’m glad. Really.”

Kurama’s youki ebbed away, returning to the vaguely familiar red-haired man. A man who had his old friend’s face. They really did look like father and son now.

Much calmer green eyes met his, and there was a smile directed at him this time. Not the distant one, nor the polite one. A genuine one, “We are going to dinner with Kenshin’s mother tonight, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if an old friend joined us.”

“I wouldn’t want to intru—“ Harry thought back over the statement, “You _believe_ me?”

“Only Kuronue would recognize my kit.” No one else had been allowed into the Den unsupervised. Kuronue had been the kit’s baby-sitter. His older brother. Sometimes even his teacher. He’d been the only one Youko had revealed his weakness to. The only one Youko would trust with him. “And don’t worry about intruding, it isn’t like that. Her heart was long since given away. It was an…arrangement made for mutual benefit. The kit needed a mother.”

Harry was torn between laughing and blushing at the implication. Of _course._ Children had to come from _somewhere._

“We will need to discuss how you survived and why it took you this long to show up, but for now…” Kurama released Harry’s arm, starting to cross the sitting room toward the hallway, “I need to reassure a certain kit that he isn’t in trouble, and that you aren’t some demon out to kill us. Would you like to properly meet him?”

And that was how Harry found himself kneeling before the little boy, remembering how he’d once tried to hide behind _his_ leg when Youko had returned early to catch them wrestling in the hallway. That kit had grown up with him. To this one, he was just a stranger. He was a stranger he felt he needed to hide from, only Kurama’s firm hand on the boy’s shoulder kept him from ducking behind his father. He would have to change that.

 _“_ Hello.” He smiled brightly, trying to put the child at ease, “My name is Kuronue. I’m an old friend of your Dad’s.”

And for once, it felt right, introducing himself by that name. Finding Kurama, someone who shared a thread of his shattered past…

The boy glanced up at his father. Kurama nodded, but didn’t say anything.

The boy’s energies shifted, and the illusion dropped. Small black fox ears peaked out from the boy’s fiery red hair. He really _was_ a kitsune. Or at least a half-breed. Gold-flecked violet eyes met his.

“Kuro-nii…” The voice was thoughtful, scrunching his face in thought. Harry froze. That had been what the kit would call him. Was that recognition in the boy’s eyes? And then it was gone, a tentative smile crossing the boy’s face, “I’m Kenshin.”

“It’s nice to meet you Kenshin.” Something clicked into place, and everything just felt right. Kuronue returned the boy’s smile.

Yes. Everything would be fine now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end of Family Matters. Yes, the crossover was planned since the very beginning. This epilogue is as much a teaser for another fic I'm planning (HPxYYH of course) as it is giving closure to Kurama and Kenshin's situation. I wanted to show the situation from an outsider POV, and Kuroune gave the opportunity to me.
> 
> I have some ideas for sequels / one-shots in this universe dealing with Kenshin's past (Sayuri "rescuing" him. Meeting Hiko, those sorts of things) as well as the after math of this epilogue (meeting Megumi, finding the rest of the Kenshin-gumi [If you think they would let him reincarnate on his own, think again]) but those are for another story, at another time. For now, this is the end.


End file.
